


Sweat, Sunlight and Battlefields

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's just returned from Afghanistan to live with his lawyer brother in a small town, but when a strange murder with a stranger history forces Dean to work alongside Officer Castiel and the garrison at the station, he realises that the battlefield may have followed him home. Destiel, probably some Sabriel later. Slash, WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I don’t own Supernatural, I just want a lot of the characters to have a lot of sex. Hope you guys like the new story, feel free to comment if I’m going OOC because this is my first Destiel. No porn this chapter but there will be later on so if that’s not your thing then… well… you’re probably a mentally healthier person than I. Nevertheless, if you don’t want to see two dudes graphically doing the deed, this isn’t the story for you. Also I am Australian, so if there are any strange Australian concepts that don’t translate over the Pacific ocean, just let me know. Cracking on…

The flare of the sun was unforgiving, a hot yellow glare that pierced the glass of the Impala and shone mercilessly in Dean’s face, and for some damn reason that made him sad.   
Sad, like actually girly tears shining in his eyes that he was valiantly attempting to blink into submission.  
“God damn it,” he whispered to himself, roughly smearing the tears across his cheeks as he brushed them away, thankful he was in the car by himself.   
It was strange, being alone after spending so much time with other people. He was recently returned from the war, still Afghanistan-brown with a whole new constellation of freckles on his arms and cheeks.   
He had been raised a soldier along with his brother, but he was the one who ended up going to the hell of it all – straight in the goddamn middle of the fighting. He felt as though he had been ripped apart and put back together, and here he was, sitting behind the wheel of his car like he might have been doing eight years ago before the sand and the heat and, well, fucking everything.   
Dean was glad Sammy had rebelled against his father’s wishes, Captain John Winchester (Killed in Action, 2005). Sam had become a lawyer instead, a damn good one if the letters Dean received while away were true.   
A fresh wave of tears almost surfaced at the idea that he was finally going to see his brother, but Dean absolutely refused them any purchase against his eyes, pushing the emotion angrily down into the pit of himself where anything too serious went. He focussed instead on the road ahead, the steady feeling of his baby beneath him.   
His Uncle Bobby had kept his car in perfect condition, for which Dean was eternally grateful. He even gave the rough old man a hug when he had shown him the car, still all shiny black and beautiful. Dean had nearly purred along with her when she started up, that low rumble being one of the things he had missed when he was over east.   
The rumble was slowing now, easing into a lower timbre as he swung the front of the car into the driveway of his younger brother and turned her off, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.   
The car doors creaked as he exited, locking them and then striding to the front door, his feet feeling lighter in his non-army issued boots, his stance falling into a relaxed position that was somehow still straight backed as he rang the doorbell and waited.   
“Doors open, Gabe!” his little brother’s voice was rougher, older, but so damn familiar that Dean almost swooned before righting himself.   
“Sammy?” He called, his voice catching embarrassingly. There was a racket inside, the noise of something being dropped and something being knocked over. A few loud footsteps, and then his brother was in the doorway – taking up the whole damn thing, Jesus he’d gotten tall – staring down at him with an incredulous expression.   
“Dean?” he replied, those puppy eyes going into overdrive as he took in his brother. The smile broke across his features violently as he leant down and swept Dean into his oversized arms, hugging him so closely that Dean got the absurd notion of fighting him off, before remembering it was his goofy little brother that was currently crushing him, and then his arms were constricting around Sam’s chest, pulling a breathless laugh and a muttered, “can’t breathe” before they finally separated.   
“You got tanned,” Sam said, grinning.   
“You got taller.” Dean replied, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Who’s Gabe?”   
Sam ducked his head, hiding a blush. “Friend,” he muttered, awkwardly gesturing towards the interior of his house. “Coffee?”  
“Love some.” Dean nodded, rocking on his heels before entering, following his brother through the hallways of his house. “Is Jess in?”   
Sam faltered slightly with his step but kept walking, clearing his throat slightly and not turning to face Dean until they were both in the kitchen.   
“No, Jess and I are… uh, we broke up.” He said ruefully, shrugging.   
“Oh… sorry, dude.” Dean offered.   
“Ah, it’s cool.” Sam shot back, turning to switch on the coffee machine and picking two mugs out of the cupboard. “It means I got the place to myself, which reminds me, where are you staying at the moment?”   
“Not sure,” Dean said blankly, looking around the kitchen and absorbing the photos placed here and there, the picture of them as kids that was stuck to the fridge, a picture of their parents on the mantle.   
“You’re welcome here if you want to, Dean, I have a spare bedroom and the place is big enough for two.” Sam grinned, dimples flashing, and Dean found himself agreeing for the simple pleasure of knowing he was allowed to stay. He was allowed to settle down, he didn’t have to go back to war again…   
“I’d like that,” he said, accepting the mug of coffee that Sam held out to him.   
“I’d like it too, I missed you, man.”   
“Hey,” Dean held up his hand, warding off the end of his brother’s sentence. “No chick flick moments.”   
Sam ducked his head and let out a huff of breath, dimples resurfacing.   
“Is your stuff still in storage?” He asked.   
“Most of it, yeah. I’ve got some stuff in the car.” Dean replied, making an offhand gesture towards the front door.   
“Need some help getting it in?”   
“There’s not a lot there, I should be ok.” He shrugged, his shoulders shifting underneath this worn leather jacket.   
“Cool. I’ll show you to your room and then I’ve got to head in to the office for a bit.” Sam said apologetically, coercing a nod out of Dean as he sipped his coffee.   
He was somewhat grateful that Sam knew him so well, knew that emotional reunions weren’t really his forte. As it was he felt like they had fallen back into the pattern of their childhood, relaxed in each other’s company.   
They finished their coffees and then Sam helped Dean get his stuff out of the car, ignoring the protests, insisting that he put the impala in the garage next to his – Dean almost wept – silver hybrid car.   
It was ten minutes later that Sam was out the door in his monkey suit with his flashy mobile phone and Dean was alone again.   
Deciding to check out his new temporary neighbourhood, Dean threw his wallet and phone into his pockets and swept out the door, taking a few minutes working out the locking mechanism with his new spare key that he deposited in his back pocket.   
The air was still warm, a chill breeze occasionally making itself known by kicking over leaves and creeping underneath Dean’s collar, but the sky was obscenely blue and the sun obscenely bright.   
He had been walking perhaps fifteen minutes when he came to what was evidently the shopping district, stepping carefully as he found himself suddenly immersed in a crowd. The streets were lined with pedestrians, making their way in and out of bakeries and banks, clothes stores and grocery shops.   
Seeing the latter, he veered left and made his way inside, remembering the empty milk carton that had been on the counter when Sam had left. He figured he may as well begin pulling his weight, now that his little brother was taking him in.   
A few stares followed him when he entered, a cluster of people near the smoking counter drawing his attention as he unthinkingly assessed the danger of each person.   
“Civilians, Dean.” He told himself, making his way to the dairy section. “You’re one of them now.”   
He grabbed the brand of milk that he remembered Sam liked from his childhood and made his way to the front of the shop, pausing when he saw the group of people were still at the smokes counter.   
Telling himself that he needed to buy cigarettes and he wasn’t, in fact, just nosy, he walked over to them.   
“-burned down the nursery, the mother inside and everything. They say the kid died in the fire as well, but his remains were never found.” An older woman was saying, leaning in conspiratorially.   
“That was over 19 years ago, Olive, I don’t think it’s connected at all.” The guy behind the smokes counter was saying, he looked to be in his mid-thirties and had the kind of stance that Dean recognised anywhere: he had served their great country as well.   
“All I’m saying is that who could have killed that poor Jim Lyon if it wasn’t a complete psycho, and the only complete psycho we’ve had in this town was that one – nineteen years ago!”   
“Alright Olive, that’s enough.” The man next to Olive took her arm in his, “Let’s leave these people to their day and get back home.”   
The old couple left, leaving a group of three or so standing there, parting easily for them to depart and inevitably catching sight of Dean, his eyebrows raised, milk clutched in his hands.   
“Um.” He gave a small wave, “Hey.”   
The guy behind the counter narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking over Dean’s upright shoulders and the powder burns on his shifting fingers.   
“We don’t get a lot of soldiers in town,” he said finally. “You must be Sam Winchester’s brother.”   
“Yeah, um. Yes sir.” He shuffled forwards and placed the milk on the counter. The man grinned widely.  
“Haven’t been called ‘sir’ in ten years, boy. Can’t say it brings back pleasant memories. Now, how can I help you?”   
“How did you know I was Sam’s brother?” Dean asked, fishing his wallet from his pocket and gesturing as well to the cigarettes behind the man’s head.   
“Oh, everyone knows Sam.” The man replied, turning to grab the smokes and placing them on the counter. “He’s pretty much the town lawyer – if you’ve got trouble in Lawrence, you go see Sam Winchester, and if you go see Sam Winchester you can pretty much bet he’ll tell you a story about his older brother who’s off getting shot at in Afghanistan.”   
Dean laughed easily, placing a few notes on the counter. “I’m flattered,” he said. “So is Sam handling anything to do with this… psycho?” Dean asked, turning then to face the other three members of the circle.   
One of them was a petite blonde woman, gorgeous and thin with a no-nonsense kind of vibe. The only thing stopping Dean from attempting to sleep with her was a reminder in his brain that he hadn’t tried to pick up in over four years, and the fact that the woman standing next to her looked like she was  
a) Blondie’s mother, and  
b) The kind of mother who wouldn’t think twice about kicking his ass.   
Next to them was a man with a mullet and wide eyes, dressed in a stained singlet and an easy smile.   
“God, look at that Rufus, you’ve got the whole town gossiping now.” The blonde one said, rolling her eyes.   
“Dean, this is Jo, Ellen and Ash.” Rufus said, pointing to them each in turn. “They can’t abide my gossiping, but let me tell you this: something weird happened in this town few weeks back, and things still haven’t calmed down.”   
“What kind of weird?” Dean asked, accepting the plastic bag of his goods from Rufus.   
“Ah, your standard American psycho.” Ellen said. “Murder and the like.”   
“Not standard in this town,” Rufus debated, wagging his finger. “We ain’t had a murder since Sebastian Lyon back in 1993.”   
“Sure thing Rufus. Anyway, we gotta get back to the roadhouse. Dean Winchester, you ever feel like a drink you head right on over to Harvelle’s, alright?”   
“Yes ma’am.” Dean nodded as the three of them left. “Nice talking, Rufus.” He added quickly, making to leave as well.   
“Good to meet you, Dean.”   
“Back at you,” he replied, exiting back into the outside world, thinking to himself that he didn’t want to be an old ex-soldier working in a goddamn grocery store in ten years. Which begged the question of what the hell he was going to do now that he was home: a question he had been avoiding ever since making the decision not to do another tour.   
“Jim Lyon,” Dean muttered out loud, tasting the word on his tongue and wondering why it was slightly familiar. He resolved to ask Sam about it later, and concentrated on finding his way back to his new house.   
Which was an excellent plan, and may have been an invigorating activity. Dean never found out due to a gravelly voice, a flurry of movement, and a lifetime of army training.   
“Uriel, that’s our guy!” That was the gravelly voice, oozing command. Dean almost snapped to attention hearing it, that bark of power.   
Next was the swirl of body odour and dirty clothes that pushed passed him, a man that couldn’t have been older than 20 shoving him to the side as he ran along the street, clearly trying to escape and clutching something that glinted in the unforgiving reflection of the sun: a knife.   
“Right.” Dean muttered, and that was when the army training forced him to abandon his milk by the door of the supermarket and launch himself at the new attack.   
He’d never been the fastest at running, he had bow legs and a stronger upper body that meant moving swiftly was a chore, but he supposed that ‘running quickly’ by army standards was a lot different to ‘running quickly’ by civilian standards.   
It was five strides before the kid was in his reach, two more seconds before the knife was skitting into the middle of the road, and only a breath later that Dean had caught the guy’s arms and pinned them behind his back, shoving him with more force than necessary into a nearby post box to emancipate him entirely.   
It was then he looked down at his clenched hands, his military stance, and almost recoiled. Instead he drew his gaze to two police officers that were jogging towards him, one of them was bald, African American and strong looking, he grabbed the knife from the middle of the street before coming over to where Dean was.   
“Looks like we got ourselves a tag-in police officer, hey Cas?” he remarked, grinning widely and then holding out his arms as if the 20 year old was a baby being handed back to its mother. The man jerked a little when Dean loosened his grip and let him go, only to be manhandled against the post box again, this time with the metallic click of handcuffs and the bored recitation of Miranda rights.   
“Sorry,” Dean breathed, his heart rate slowing, taking in the other police officer. He was less obvious, somehow unassuming in a long beige trench coat and suit, blue tie haphazardly loosened and twisted – probably from their chase.   
Then he met his gaze, and strategically had to take a moment to reassess his sexual orientation as he took in the piercing blue eyes, the stubble lined jaw and unruly dark hair, pale lips chapped and currently stretched in a smile that seemed so innocent that Dean almost wanted to cover those blue eyes so he couldn’t see the bad man being put in the police car that had pulled up at the curb on the opposite side of the street.  
“No apologies necessary, that was extraordinary.” The man said, and Dean recognised the deep, rough voice as the one who had shouted. “I’m Officer Castiel Novak, this is my partner Officer Uriel Milton.”   
“Dean Winchester.” He said with a tight nod  
“Sam’s brother?” Uriel asked, rejoining them where they were standing. “That makes sense, your take down of that guy screamed military.”   
“Guilty.” Dean said with a shrug and an awkward smile.   
“Thanks for your help, Dean. You’ve assisted us in catch a suspect in a murder case that has been slipping us for the past week.” Castiel said, his tone measured and slow, as if he were weighing each word before saying it and making sure it was absolutely necessary.   
“So this is the psycho who got that Lyon guy?” Dean asked, his eyes flicking to the back of the police car where the dirty looking man was sitting, his head bowed. He had a widow’s peak and heavy looking eyes, his hair looked like a few washes might make it blonde and his frame was scrawny.  
“You’ve been talking to Rufus, then?” Uriel replied with a low laugh. “Yeah, this is our guy.”   
“We think it might be.” Castiel interrupted. “And we need to verify this, so we should probably head back to the station.”   
“Ok, cool. Nice meeting you officers.” Dean said  
“Likewise, Dean. You’re handy to have around.” Uriel joked.   
“We’ll be seeing you, Dean.” Castiel added, and Dean couldn’t help but hope that he was right.


	2. Chapter Two

Sweat had been forming under Dean’s helmet for a good half hour before it started to gather into drops and track streaks into his sand-dirty skin, collecting in the creases next to his eyes, squinted against the glare of the sun.   
He was utterly alone in the unforgiving desert, but he wasn’t afraid. This place was as much his home as America had been, his friends/platoon, his father/captain, the gun close to his right hand, the amulet Sam had given him warm against his throat.   
The sudden appearance of another figure next to him, however, led him to the conclusion that perhaps he was dreaming. When he glanced to the side, he saw it was Sam. He was dressed in his suit, mobile held to his ear.   
“I prepared the spare bed for you, Dean. I don’t see why you had to sleep on the couch.” He said.   
Dean blearily blinked his eyes open to see his brother standing a few feet away, a bowl of cereal in his hand and his tie half-done.   
“Morning, Sam.” Dean replied, his voice sleep-roughened. He checked his surroundings, noting that he was still in his jeans and t-shirt from the previous day, laptop perched on the table in front of him. “Must have dozed off last night.”   
“What were you doing?” Sam asked through a mouthful of cereal.   
“Ah, nothing.” Dean muttered, sitting up fully so he could close his laptop with a dull slap, hiding the evidence of his research.   
He had spent all night looking over old records of the fire that had killed the mother and child, as well as the murder of Jim Lyon that had taken place a few weeks ago – he knew now why that name sounded familiar. He was a lawyer, the guy who used to work alongside Sam in his firm. Dean didn’t know exactly why he was so fascinated by the case, it wasn’t like he was going to become a cop or anything. Something about all of it just made him a little edgy.   
“Well I’m going to head off to work, I might have to work late tonight, but there are takeout menus on the fridge.”   
“Sure thing Sammy,” Dean said rolling back onto his side and stretching out his legs.   
Sam scoffed. “Sammy is a chubby thirteen year old, Sam is a lawyer now.” He said, pursing his lips before picking up a briefcase pointedly. Dean waited until he had left the room to answer.  
“Seeya Sammy,” Dean called, grinning when the door slammed with a little more force than necessary.   
He took his time in waking up, walked up to his new bedroom. He took a long shower, ate some cereal in front of the television, watched some porn, brushed his teeth.   
“Normal.” Dean breathed out at his own reflection as he rinsed his mouth.   
He stared a few moments longer, his eyes scanning over the unchapped lips and bag-free eyes.  
“Awesome.” He muttered sarcastically, making his way back downstairs to where his laptop was. His research tabs were still open, and he scanned over a few of the articles before shutting them down, thinking that this whole ‘looking for trouble’ thing should probably be stopped before it started.   
He’d only been home two days and he’d already tackled a civilian, he remembered, laughing to himself. His brain unwillingly went back to the guy, all unwashed and haggard looking. Dean hadn’t really got a good look at him, but for some reason he seemed familiar now that he was recalling it.   
The corners of his mouth turned down as he re-opened the tabs he had just closed, glancing over the first photo that popped up. Jim Lyon stared smiling blankly from the black and white photo, his wife next to him, his receding hairline disguising what might have once been a fierce widow’s peak, but now was just thinning blonde hair.   
His vague memory of high school biology muttered to him that widow’s peaks were a dominant allele, and he absently began checking the birth date of Jim Lyon’s son, doing some quick calculations and guess work that would mean that if he was still alive he would have been around 20 years old.  
“Oh.” Dean said quietly, feeling a little buzz of adrenaline enter his veins at the possibility. A random serial killer – crazy, yes. An estranged son returned from the dead to murder his father – even crazier.   
It took him a moment to realise that the music he was hearing wasn’t just incidental background sound to accompany his discovery, but his ringtone.   
He dug his phone out from the gap in between the pillows of the couch, frowning at the unknown number.  
“Hello?” He said cautiously.   
“Hey, Dean, wasn’t it? This is Officer Uriel, I was wondering if you were busy?” his voice was deeper over the phone, and Dean let out a puff of air, shutting his laptop quickly as if the policeman could see through the phone.   
“Hey there Officer, no, not particularly.”   
“That’s great, I was wondering if you could come down to the station and give us a statement about your adventure yesterday.”   
“Sure thing, I’ll head down now.”   
“Look forward to it. Bye, Dean.”   
“Seeya soon, officer.” He flipped closed his phone and took a few steadying breaths. Was it illegal to research a case? Did it matter?   
He wasn’t researching a case.   
It wasn’t like he was going to do anything.   
“You’re paranoid, Winchester.” He muttered gruffly to himself, snagging his leather jacket from the back of the couch and shrugging it on, pulling his car keys from the pocket and smoothing down his hair, absently wondering if Officer Castiel would be on duty.   
“Paranoid and gay.” He muttered then, rolling his eyes. He had come to that conclusion after his third year in Afghanistan, realising that maybe he wasn’t resorting to evenings in the company of men because he was forced to, but rather because – god, he felt like such a wimp for even admitting it in his own damn head – because he liked men. Like liked them. Not so much more than women, more along the lines of…   
Look, he could appreciate a nice ass when he saw it, ok? So what if it belonged to a dude.   
He opened the door to his baby roughly; falling into the driver’s seat with practised grace and starting her up, letting the soothing rumble calm his nerves.   
It wasn’t until he started driving that he realised that he had no idea where the station was and he soon found himself aimlessly circling the main shopping area, the third time around finally spotting the police sign. He pulled into the parking lot, glancing around the building in front of him and noting the lawyer’s office a few buildings down, Sam’s name emblazoned across a sign that was visible from where he climbed out of the car and grinned.   
“That’s my boy.” He said to himself, locking the door and turning back to the police station.   
The place was mostly empty, just a man sitting behind the desk and a few cops milling around. None of them, Dean noted with disapproval, had trench coats on.   
He sidled to the counter, awkwardly facing the man sitting behind it.   
“Hey, my name is Dean, I’m here to see Officer Uriel.” He said  
“He’ll be here in a moment, you can take a seat.” The man gestured offhandedly to a few peeling leather couches in the entrance.   
Dean gave a tight lipped smile and a nod, moving to sit gingerly on the chair. Next to him a vending machine whirred half heartedly, a cop standing in front of it determinedly pressing a few buttons before a clunk sounded and a can of soda appeared.   
He did a double take when he saw Dean, can of soda poised in his grip and mouth forming in an easy smirk that looked as though it might be his default expression.  
“Unfeasibly attractive,” he stated. “Military posture, uncomfortable expression, and eyes that don’t exactly fit on a color wheel. You must be a Winchester.”  
“What?” Dean quipped  
The cop smirked again, popping the can open and taking a sip. “I’m Officer Gabriel, Sam’s friend.”   
“Oh.” Dean frowned, “Ok.”  
“Good meeting you, Dean-o. Stay out of trouble now.” Gabriel said, nodding and returning to his drink as he walked further into the station, around a corner and out of sight, almost precisely coinciding with the arrival of Uriel and Castiel.   
There seemed to be a lot of –iel’s at this station.  
Dean stood, grinning and trying to push the idea that his eyes ‘didn’t exactly fit on the colour wheel’ out of his head.   
“Officers,” he greeted.  
“Hello Dean.” Castiel replied, “Thank you for coming in today.”   
“Ah, it’s no trouble.” He waved it off and forced himself to look at Officer Uriel instead of gawking at Cas, who’s hair had somehow got more out of control and who’s eyes had a shade of blue that – god damn it Winchester, you are not going to think this thought – didn’t exactly fit on the color wheel.   
“That’s great. We’re just going to need you to fill out a few forms, recount what happened, standard stuff.” Uriel said, waving him towards the back of the station until they came to an office with ‘Castiel Novak’ printed on the door. “Officer Castiel has all the forms in his office if you don’t mind filling them out in there.”   
“Sure.” Dean said, edging into the room and walking over to the desk, sitting on the visitor’s side and pulling a pen from his pocket. He heard the door shut behind him and turned to see-  
He was in a room. With Castiel Novak.   
Damn it Winchester, you need to get laid, like yesterday.   
“I’ll help you with filling out anything you don’t understand,” Cas said in explanation, heading over to the opposite side of the desk and sitting down, popping open a laptop in front of him and clicking a few times.   
“Great.” Dean said, the presence of the laptop making him remember his research. “Say, how are you going with the kid?”   
Cas sighed. “Not so well. We still haven’t got any ID on him, he’s scrubbed his finger prints, no distinguishing marks, no wallet, no phone. Our internet was down last night as well, it’s all a little bit chaotic around here at the moment.”   
“Ah.” Dean said, smiling sympathetically and biting his tongue against letting spill all the things he was thinking. Police officer’s didn’t want half baked theories from ex soldiers.   
When he focussed back in he realised he had been staring, and his gaze was now locked with said police officer, who’s head was cocked slightly to the side, his eyes squinted.   
“You know something?”   
“No,” Dean said abruptly with a nervous huff. “Not at all.”   
“You looked like you were going to say something.” Cas prompted  
“Did I?” Dean laughed, but Cas wasn’t laughing back at him. He was just staring with those unnerving eyes, like he could see into Dean’s skull and was judging him on all the weird shit in there.   
“It’s just…”  
“Yes?”   
“How old is that kid?”   
“He reckons 22, but we think he’s perhaps younger.” Castiel replied, his voice suddenly more formal. Dean wondered when it had been informal, but then forced his brain to focus.   
“I’d say around twenty.”   
“Would you?” Cas looked slightly amused.   
“Can I use your laptop a second?” Dean asked, eyes flicking to the machine. He could feel Cas’ eyes still on his, but he tensed his jaw and forced himself to think non-gay thoughts for a damn second.   
Cas pressed a few buttons and then turned it around, and Dean quickly pulled up the internet and typed in the search he had done last night, finding the old picture of Jim Lyons and enlarging it on the screen. He turned it back around and held his breath as Cas’ eyes took in the picture.   
“They never found his son,” Dean said simply.   
“And you think the kid you caught yesterday is-”  
“Sebastian Lyons, born the 5th of August in 1993 to Jim and Samantha Lyons.” Dean finished his sentiment, expecting laughter or perhaps scepticism.   
When he looked up, however, Cas was halfway to the door.   
Deciding he had probably already meddled enough for one day, Dean turned to his paperwork, a niggling feeling in his chest making him want to jump up and follow Castiel all the way to the kid, see if he was right, see how Cas would look at him if he was right…   
“C’mon, man.” Dean said to himself, picking up his pen and shuffling the papers into a semblance of order before beginning to fill them out. There was a short rap on the door and Dean quickly turned, schooling his expression into normality when he saw that it was Sam’s friend.   
“Officer Gabriel,” He said  
“Just a heads up, Dean-o. Officer Novak is definitely batting for your team, and he is definitely attracted to intellectuals.” Gabriel replied casually, pulling a lollipop from the pocket of his uniform pants and beginning to unwrap it, grinning to himself. “I saw you making bedroom eyes at him.”   
Caught between saying ‘Really?’ and ‘No I wasn’t,’ Dean found a strange strangled kind of noise coming from his throat instead.   
“My sentiment exactly,” Gabriel stated. “Now, batter up.”   
Before Dean could ask what the hell that meant, Cas had taken his spot in the door and Gabriel had swirled away on a sickly sweet smelling breeze.   
“You were right. We think.” Cas said breathlessly. “He answered to Sebastian when we said it and… there are similarities we hadn’t noticed before and…” Cas trailed off, walking into the room.   
“Hey, no problems, Cas.” Dean said with a smile, feeling something strange in his stomach with the way the officer was looking at him.   
“Castiel,” he corrected, hands finding the pockets of his trench coat.  
“Castiel.” Dean repeated, smiling apologetically. There was a brief pause.   
“Cas.” The officer finally said.   
“Cas.” Dean’s smile widened as he said it again.   
“Dean.” He replied, and then the door swung closed behind him, making his breath catch in his throat and breaking the moment.   
Breaking the moment? God, he was such a girl sometimes.   
“Did you get the paperwork done?” Cas asked  
“No, sorry. I was-” Dean was cut off because Cas had moved to stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the unfinished paper and suddenly so close that Dean could fucking smell the guy and screw it if it was girly or gay or- just fuck it.   
He opened his mouth ready to ask for his number, ready to awkwardly stutter out an offer for dinner.   
But – holy shit there is a God – Cas seemed to have other ideas. As soon as Dean’s eyes had locked on his face, they were both gone. He took a sharp breath through his nose, like some kind of survival instinct in his body was telling him that he wasn’t going to have enough oxygen in his brain very soon, and then soft, slightly chapped lips were moving against his.   
The kiss was chaste for about 0.2 seconds, but then Cas gasped slightly and Dean’s downstairs brain proposed that they get this show on the road like pronto because they were in the office of a policeman who was – oh praise Jesus and all his friends – deliciously hard against his leg, and he wasn’t going to last and really, anyone could walk in on them at any time.   
Dean’s hands found Cas’ delightfully peachy ass and he gripped and pulled, slamming him back onto his own desk and licking into his mouth with a deliberate stroke of his tongue. Cas made a needy kind of noise and his hands tightened where they were rested on Dean’s biceps, drawing a groan out of him.   
The noise was loud in the confines of the office, and it served to snap them both out of the reverie they had created.   
They were breathing against each other’s mouths, the urgency gone and suddenly hyper-aware of their surroundings.   
“Say, Cas?” Dean said quietly, his lips brushing against the police officer’s with every word.   
“Mm?” He replied, the noise vibrating against his mouth.   
“Would you maybe like to go out to dinner with me some time?”   
“Do you mean dinner,” Cas asked slowly. “Or, dinner.” He punctuated the word by flicking his tongue against Dean’s mouth, causing his hips to buck involuntarily into Cas’.   
“I’d be pretty good with either.” Dean admitted.  
“I’ll come around when I finish work.” Cas promised  
“But Sam-”  
“Always works late on Mondays.” He finished, pushing slightly so that they were both standing, still obscenely close.   
“I guess I’ll see you tonight then.” Dean grinned smugly, turning to walk away. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.  
“You need to finish your paper work first, Mr. Winchester.” Cas said, dragging his hand across the small of Dean’s back and over his ass before walking out of the room.  
He was a smug bastard considering the fact he was going to interrogate a criminal with a hard on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the whole wham bam thank you ma’am kind of relationship Dean and Cas are having. Look, there will be plot here, it’s just that that plot will be substantially filled with porn and I kind of wanted to get the show on the road. Mm Dean and Cas. Gettin’ it. DID SOMEONE SAY PORN NEXT CHAPTER?


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be a little PWP, if that isn’t your plate of biscuits then you’re welcome to skip it. While I have read some impressively arousing enema fiction, I am not brave enough to attempt the written backdoor wash down. I’ll put a little line break and let your imagination’s wander. And then I’ll write some porn. And then maybe some plot will work its way into the chapter, like an enema working its way int- NO I’M SORRY I AM NOT PREPARED.

To save the time of anyone considering, Dean had decided to create a list of reasons he was about to have his dude card permanently revoked and be presented instead with a training bra and box of tampons.   
1\. He had actually spent time in the supermarket, looking at candles and considering. Yeah, he was considering buying candles for Cas when he came over so that they could… oh god. Yeah, that bought him to number,  
2\. He was nervous. Dean Goddamn Winchester was nervous about a guy. He didn’t get nervous about guys unless those guys happened to have automatic firing rifles and were wearing camouflage.   
3\. And this was the big one. Not only had Dean Winchester considered the fact that he may be – oh god, Dean, don’t think it – bottoming this evening (pull yourself together), he had decided to go ahead and purchase hygienic and sanitary precautionary items.   
4\. Items that he was currently staring at.   
5\. With a mixture of horror,  
6\. Curiosity,  
7\. And arousal.   
He was sitting on the toilet seat, fully clothed staring at the instructions on the back of the – Jesus Dean what the hell have you gotten yourself into – enema kit.   
“Son of a bitch.” He whispered out loud, putting the box down so he could strip his shirt off. 

xXx

About half an hour, some very unmanly noises, and a surprise erection later, Dean found himself sitting in the lounge room wrapped loosely in a towel.   
“If I do it now, I’ll be less sensitive for Cas.” Dean reasoned to himself, looking down at his flagging erection. His dick gave an interested twitch when the thought of Cas entered his mind again, and Dean groaned.   
“Yep,” he muttered, “This is definitely happening.”   
He allowed the towel to gape open, his cock appearing from underneath the white, fluffy material. He made a loose fist and began the age old act of masturbation – something Dean Winchester had down to an art form.   
He smeared the precum across his palm and pumped lazily, a thought entering his mind with such a sudden appearance that his breath stuttered out of him all at once and his fist tightened around his cock.   
He stared evenly at what he had bought down from his new room, and was currently sitting on the table with a kind of feigned innocence, as though it hadn’t just made this thought jump into Dean’s skull.   
Lube.   
Dean reached out – no his hands were not shaking – and took the bottle, applying a liberal amount to his fingers and warming it up with slow movements across the pads of his index and middle finger that made him remember how Cas’ hands had felt on his arms, surprisingly strong and large. Cas, in his business suit and ridiculous hair. Dean could imagine peeling that suit off him – or maybe even better – leaving the suit on. Dean groaned, thinking of unzipping his pants and pulling that cock out, swallowing Cas down while he was still fully dressed, or Cas fucking him against his desk, muffling sounds from the officer by gagging him with that loose blue tie…  
Dean’s erection was well and truly back.   
“One step at a time.” Dean told himself, leaning forwards so that his fingers could trail across his hip, around the cheek of his arse where Cas had brushed against only a few hours ago, and dipping into the middle.   
Dean exhaled heavily when his fingers found his rim, poking forward with a delicious, wet, heat that made Dean remember those times over in Afghanistan when the loneliness had got to be too much and friends had turned into awkward acquaintances after a night of… well…  
He pushed slightly, his first finger dipping in up to the knuckle and a little gasp escaping his lips.   
Ok, so this felt better than he remembered.   
Inquisitively, he pushed in further and then slid out again. After a few repetitions, he added the second finger.   
His cock was straining against his stomach now, precum smearing on his abs as he worked his fingers into himself, scissoring slightly on the way out and feeling the muscles relaxing. He could imagine Cas coming around, imagine him finding Dean already lubed and stretched, of the noises he might make.   
Dean made a low groan and finally, finally, took his erection into his non-dominant left hand, his right still disappearing behind himself with increasing rapidity. He was nearing completion now, looking around worriedly for some paper towels or something and spotting his discarded t-shirt. He leant backwards to grasp it in between his teeth, but that was the push sent his fingers on an angle that suddenly made his mouth relax as a startled noise broke through his throat, his left hand stuttering in its rhythm as his release striped his own chest and his fingers slowed down, dropping so his right arm was draped limply against the couch.   
“Jesus Christ.” He whispered, finally grabbing his shirt and cleaning off his chest, wondering if he should have another shower, and thinking to himself that if God really didn’t want there to be homosexuals, he shouldn’t have put the male g-spot in a place that was really only accessible to other men.   
A knock on the door pulled Dean from his reverie, and he almost got up to answer it when he realised he was only in a towel, clutching his soiled shirt.   
“Shit.” He whispered, edging towards the stairs, wondering how long it would take him to get to his room and then back down again. “Uh… who is it?” he asked, wincing at the way his voice sounded.   
“Dean?” Castiel’s unmistakable voice broke through the wood.   
“Just a minute!” Dean shouted back, running up the stairs hurriedly and barrelling into his room, grabbing jeans off the floor and pulling them on, shrugging himself into a grey shirt as well that was – he gave it a sniff – reasonably clean.   
He skipped back down the steps, taking the last two in a leap that landed him next to the door, he steadied himself with a breath and then pulled the door open.   
Cas had come straight from work, he was in his usual suit with his trench coat over the top, silky blue tie loosened so that the straight column of his neck was on display. His hair was in disarray and he had tired circles under his eyes.   
Dean found it almost comically sexy.   
“Come in.” he said, holding the door slightly wider so Cas could pass him. He did so slowly, stepping obscenely close.   
“Your shirt is on backwards.” He informed Dean in his business-like voice.   
Dean laughed and closed the door. “My bad,” he shrugged.   
As soon as the door was closed Castiel’s stance changed, somehow relaxing, somehow more tense.   
“Tell me, Dean. What were you doing here, downstairs, not wearing any clothes?” Cas asked  
“I’m sorry?” Dean asked, feeling a blush rising and forcing it downwards.   
“Your shirt is on backwards, your jeans button is undone, I very clearly heard you running up the stairs and…” Cas gestured – almost awkwardly – to the couch. “Lube is on the table, cap unscrewed.”   
Dean swallowed noisily when Cas moved into his personal space, closing the distance between them. Dean leaned down, keen to feel his lips again, but was rejected when Cas tilted his head, instead taking Dean’s jeans in hand and undoing the zipper. He gave one questioning look to his lack of underwear and then a huff of air left him.   
“Dean,” he said on an exhalation, and this time he didn’t leave time for rejection. Dean’s hands found the stubble-lined jaw and tilted it upwards, gripping so tightly that Cas’ lips opened and Dean pushed his tongue inside roughly, not letting go of his face.   
Cas kissed him back, his hands tangling in the back – well, front – of Dean’s shirt, fists clenching and unclenching around the material. Dean pushed him back against the door, his hands leaving Cas’ face so that they could trail to his shoulders, pushing off the trench coat.   
Cas seemed to get the idea, and he let go of Dean so his arms could slip through the holes. He had moved his hands to unbutton his white shirt when Dean caught his wrists and restrained them, swallowing nervously when he remembered his earlier fantasy.   
“Cas, can I-” Dean swallowed, his voice catching. Unable to finish his sentence, he moved his fingers to the front of Cas’ pants and unzipped them, reaching in to stroke sure hands over the growing bulge in his boxers.   
Dean looked down so he could watch as he dipped fingers into the slit of his boxers, skin touching overheated skin and relishing the gasp that escaped Cas, forcing Dean’s eyes to snap back up and take in the gaze that Cas was holding him in – blue eyes blown wide, staring at him incredulously.   
“Can I?” Dean tried again, and Cas nodded wordlessly as Dean shifted his grip and finally pulled Cas’ cock out of the zipper and stroked lightly, feeling the beading precum at the tip and the perfect shape of him. God, he was unbelievable. All hot skin and thick length, maybe the same size as Dean at a glance.   
Dean sunk to his knees reverently, one hand steadying on his hip and the other guiding Cas’ cock towards his face.   
Cas made a strangled noise when Dean nuzzled at his crotch, smearing the precum across his cheek and then leaning back on his knees so he could stare into Cas’ face as he took the tip in between his lips, placing a slow kiss and thinking to himself that he was not going to fuck this up. So what if he had only really given one blow job in his life, or that he wasn’t even positive he liked dick in his mouth until this very second.   
Thinking of what he personally enjoyed, he tightened his fist around the base and begun taking Cas into his mouth, suckling carefully on the tip, tasting him – all bitter and sweet and wonderful. He continued this ministration when Cas hissed and his hands relocated to the back of Dean’s head, massaging lightly against the scalp and wrenching a startled groan out of his throat, the vibration making Cas tighten his hands.   
Dean nursed the tip of his erection, tongue lapping at his slit and hand moving in tandem with the pulsing of his mouth, feeling stirrings in his stomach when Cas gave a weak groan and whispered,   
“Dean, yes.” A dull thud signalling that Cas’ head had just hit the door.   
Taking the encouragement, Dean slid forwards, taking more of Cas into his mouth until the tip nudged his throat and he swallowed.   
“Jesus.” Cas’ breathing was heavy, little noises spilling over his lips when Dean returned to suckling the tip, swallowing precum and speeding up the rhythm of his hand.   
“Dean,” He said quietly, like a prayer, and Dean rubbed his tongue against the underside of his cock, sucking in breath through his nose and then sinking as far as he could go, swallowing convulsively around the tip.   
“Dean,” it was hissed urgently, and fingers tightened in his hair to the point of pain, a long, low noise steadily streaming from Cas’ parted lips.   
Dean dragged his fingers slowly lower, ghosting over the soft skin of Cas’ bollocks and circling lightly over the pucker of his ass.   
“De-” his exhalation was cut short by a series of short, stuttered sounds and a rough thrust of his hips, and then he was coming in Dean’s mouth, all salty and sweet and bitter and Cas.   
Dean swallowed as he pulled back, feeling a dribble of semen leave his lips and track towards his chin. Cas’ hands untangled from his hair and were resting pensively on his cheekbones, and he swept a thumb down towards Dean’s lips, pushing the line of cum from the dip in his chin and up, back into his mouth.   
Dean obediently opened and suckled Cas’ thumb, swallowing the remaining residue and then grinning up at him.   
Cas shuddered out a laugh and tugged at Dean’s shoulders, urging him to stand. He did so, re-zipping his jeans and bending his knees slightly to work out the soreness. Cas frowned at where Dean had just redone his jeans, and Dean found a laugh escaping his swollen lips.   
“Round two in twenty minutes or so, hey? I’m not a teenager anymore.” Dean said, his voice was roughened and low and seemed to have some kind of effect on Cas, because despite the fact Dean’s mouth had just been on his cock, Cas seemed eager to taste him, because he was leaning in with his dry lips parted and Dean noted that this relationship seemed to revolve heavily on the fact that they didn’t really deny each other anything.  
He kissed him slower this time, a soft press of lips and a gentle drag of teeth. Dean smoothed down his unruly, black hair and pushed gently against the seam of Cas’ lips with his tongue, all soft and pliant, making his chest constrict.   
When they pulled away Cas was smiling, shaking his head slightly.   
“I don’t usually do this,” he said, his voice somehow rougher. “I don’t know what you must think of me.”   
“Dude, I’m the one who just blew you against a door.” Dean pointed out, mentally cursing his social abrasiveness. Cas was smiling though, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing either, for the record.”   
“I guess this is strange for both of us then.” Cas pointed out, his expression neutral again.   
“I suppose so.” Dean agreed, biting his lip slightly and turning to the kitchen. “Is it too weird to offer coffee now or…?”  
“I’d very much enjoy a coffee.” Cas replied seriously.  
“Great.” Dean smiled, turning to make his way into the kitchen. On the way there he shrugged out of his shirt, turning it around and pulling it back on, the right way round. He flicked on the kettle and pulled down two mugs, turning around to face Cas and finding him looking at the photos on the mantle, his eyes squinted and his head tilted.   
“So,” Dean said awkwardly. “How’s the thing going with… Sebastian?”   
“It’s going well,” Cas spoke without turning his head, still observing the pictures. “We’ve gotten some crucial information out of him.”   
“Good stuff.” Dean nodded, thinking that it was probably illegal for him to ask what that information was.   
It’s not like he was interested.   
He didn’t care about some punk ass kid who killed his dad.   
He cared about… making this coffee.   
Nodding to himself, he continued around the kitchen, pulling out milk and sugar and allowing Castiel to place his own in the mug to the left.   
They drank in silence, feeling only slightly uncomfortable (mostly to do with the fact that Dean wasn’t wearing underpants, his knees were slightly sore and he thinks there could be nail marks on his scalp.) After a while Cas walks over to Dean’s side of the kitchen counter and raises his eyebrows expectantly. Not quite knowing what to do, Dean puts down his mug and opens his arms for Cas, thinking maybe the guy is a cuddler.   
Cas, however, takes the opportunity of Dean’s spread arms to unbutton his jeans and slowly drag the zip downwards, revealing more of Dean’s skin and a trail of golden hair.   
“It’s been twenty minutes, Dean.” Cas’ voice is doing things to him, and a needy sound escapes his lips when Cas pushes forward, trapping him against the counter and tilting his head upwards as a request for another kiss, which Dean obliges, tasting of coffee and warmth.   
Dean divests Cas of his jacket and pulls him closer, groaning when Cas plants a thigh between his legs, and his dick decides to become interested all of a sudden.   
Cas must feel it, because he smiles slightly against his mouth and moves his hands to the waist of Dean’s jeans, tugging them downwards and allowing his semi-hard cock free. He strokes a hand up the length and it hardens more, making Cas hiss slightly as though his cock is the one being man-handled by a sexy police officer.   
He quirks an eyebrow suddenly, his breath catching. “Dean,” he stutters, and his voice sounds raw. “You don’t have any…”  
“Any what?” Dean asks, feeling slightly worried. Is something wrong? With his… oh god.  
“You don’t have any lubrication on your penis.” Cas clarifies.   
“Oh,” Dean says, relief flooding through him. “No, no I don’t.”   
“But there was…” Cas frowns, recognition dawning in his features. His lips move around a word that might be ‘no’, and then his fingers pull the jeans completely off and he tugs Dean as close as he can physically get, kissing him roughly.   
Dean is all for this change, but he can’t quite work out what Cas is getting at.   
That is, until his hands reach towards the swell of his ass, smoothing against the skin before dipping in towards where his hole is still loose and wet, clenching when fingers brush against it and then Cas goes silent.   
“You…” Cas looks up at him, something akin to wonder in his eyes. Dean feels a little vulnerable, like maybe this session has a little too much emotion in it.  
So he grins instead, manoeuvring a hand behind himself so he can grasp Cas’ wrist and push it slightly, so the finger that had been circling his rim is now pushing forward, easily sliding against lubricated muscle and Dean clenches his eyes shut because shit that feels good.   
“You like that, Cas?” Ok, so its cliché, not the best start to his career in dirty talking. “You can’t imagine what I did for you.” Dean smirked, pushing back a little more. “Or maybe you can?”   
Cas groaned, sheathed his finger inside of Dean, crumpled forward a little. Dean caught him, soothed a hand up his back, moved his lips so they were hovering over his ear.   
“I got myself all clean and then I came downstairs, just wearing a towel. I sat on that couch and I thought of you, Cas. Thought of doing all kinds of dirty things to you and then… well, I just couldn’t help myself.”   
A second finger is coming in to play, and Dean welcomes it eagerly. Soon Cas is scissoring the fingers in and out of Dean and it has become significantly more difficult to order his thoughts.   
“I took two fingers, pushed them inside of me and imagined it was you, all the while fucking into my fist until I came… and then who should appear at my door but…” Cas had stilled, fingers still inside Dean, head tilted towards him.   
Dean gave his earlobe a playful bite and rocked backwards against his fingers.  
“You wanna fuck me, Cas?” Dean asked, and Cas’ head snapped around to look at him.   
“Yes,” Castiel replied, fingers slipping out of his ass and trailing around to his cock. “But not right now,”   
His grip tightened and Dean shuddered as Cas began to jerk him, sinking to his knees in front of him.   
“Why not?” Dean asked, slightly put out.   
“Because Sam’s going to be home in ten minutes, and I plan on taking my time with you.” Cas growled, and then both hands were on his hips and he turned Dean around so suddenly that he was powerless to do anything aside from dimly wonder what the hell Cas was doing, grab the counter for support, and allow the fleeting thought of ‘Just wait a few moments, Sammy’ , and then his thoughts were a pulsing, screaming white noise against the feeling of a tongue against his entrance.   
“Ca-as.” Dean’s voice escaped him in a breathless whimper and he felt himself shamelessly pressing back against the tongue that was probing against the stretched flesh, dipping inside and sucking around the edges. Cas’ hand had found its way back to his cock, and he was pumping in time with flicks of his tongue, moving to twist his stroke at the head and then spearing his tongue inside of him.   
Dean groaned again, feeling Cas fucking him with his tongue and blinking rapidly, small noises escaping his throat.   
“Cas, I’m not going to-” please, please don’t let this be over so quickly. God damn it, he had prepared for this moment and now it was-  
“Cas, sweet fucking Jesus, Cas.”  
Over.   
Speaking of over, his release was all fucking over Sam’s kitchen cabinets.   
“That could be awkward to explain.” Dean muttered, turning around to face Cas and feeling his stomach clench at the sight.   
He was still on his knees, his eyes blown and his hand working his cock. He had spit smeared on his cheeks and his lips were swollen. With a groan, Dean dropped next to him and swatted his hand away, replacing it with his own and nuzzling into Cas’ neck as he pumped. It only took a few strokes, Dean whispering filthy things into his ear and tightening his hold, before Cas was coming again, spilling across Dean’s hand and shuddering in his arms.   
He held him, feeling like his dude card was well and truly gone anyway so he may as well enjoy this new embraced girlyness.   
“Let go of me.” Cas muttered  
“Not a chance.” Dean replied  
“I meant my…” Cas gestured towards his dick and Dean laughed, releasing his hold and then turning to look at the cabinet beside them.   
“Somehow I don’t think my brother would approve of our redecorations.” He said.   
Cas’ answering grin almost made him want to leave it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovelies with their kudos and their love. I love you.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to that ‘plot’ thing I’ve heard so much about. Big thanks to all the lovely feedback, xoxo

A joke of their childhood was that Sam could sleep through anything, and that Dean would wake up if a mosquito flew too close to his ear. Dean tested this theory frequently, waiting by his little brother’s bed in the early hours of the morning, the first weak attempts of sunlight peeking around the curtains and illuminating Sammy’s still sleeping form.   
Foghorns had woken him. The triangle hadn’t. Tambourines - still sleeping, crash symbol - awake. Rumble of dad’s car, nothing, Dean shouting ‘MAH!’ close to his ear, consciousness.   
Ambulance sirens always had mixed reactions, and Dean had a theory that Sam would only wake up for the really serious accidents, like Sam could somehow tell if an injury was worth him being conscious for.   
If that ability existed, Dean imagined that the Ambulance that sped past his window around 10 p.m. would have had Sam bolt upright in his bed, urgently turning to Dean.   
Instead it had Dean frowning from where he was sitting on the couch, feet propped up next to his beer and laptop pressed against his knees. He checked the time, checked his phone, wondered where the hell Sam had got to for the millionth time that night.   
“Paranoid.” He told himself, Sam was probably just working late. He couldn’t shake the feeling of dread after another call directed straight to voice mail, though.   
Despite his own objections about literally every social rule about the first date (or one night stand or… whatever the hell had happened), Dean dialled Cas’ number next.   
He picked up on the third ring, an irritated ‘hello’ filling the sound of sirens that were way closer on his end of the phone.   
“Cas?” He asked unsurely.  
“Dean?” Cas sounded somehow amazed. “I was… actually just going to call you.”   
“Sam?” Dean asked, because he knew that tone of voice. There was something cold in his stomach, something he thought he would never have to feel again after leaving the goddamn Army.   
“He’s fine,” Cas said quickly, melting away that feeling and making Dean so damn grateful he could have given the guy a thousand blow jobs against a thousand different doors.   
“His office isn’t though, and his secretary is… well, I’m not sure how much information I can disclose. Sam has been bought in for questioning.”   
“Wait… Sam’s secretary is dead and you think Sam did it?” Dean was on his feet then, his laptop sliding to the seat next to him as he paced wildly to the window. “The guy doesn’t even eat meat.”  
“No, no, Sam isn’t a suspect. It’s the situation, Dean, it’s all rather complicated. Why don’t you come down to the station, Sam should be free to go soon and he’ll need a lift home.”   
“Doesn’t he have a car?” Dean asked, already walking to where he had placed his car keys and shoving them in his pocket, heading towards the door.   
“It was… look. I’ll explain everything when you’re down here.”   
“Ok, thanks Cas.” Dean said, feeling a little bewildered. God, it had only been four hours ago that they had been standing against the very door Dean was opening.   
“No problems, Dean.” He replied, and there was the familiar beep and click of a call ending, and Dean was stumbling towards his car a few steps at a time, murmuring ‘son of a bitch’ to himself and anyone else who wanted to listen.   
The drive down to the station went quickly, and soon he was caught up in the traffic of the main road, looking with wide eyes at Sam’s building.   
Well, what was left of it.   
“Jesus,” Dean whispered to himself, staring at the fire crews and police cars, colored lights dancing over the debris and faces of those crowded there.   
The building was totalled: Dean knew the effects of a bomb when he saw one. It appeared to have gone off in the car park somewhere, the blast taking out the front of Sam’s office and a few windows of the buildings next to it.   
“Dean!” A familiar voice called, and Dean turned to see the old man, Rufus, standing near a barrier. Dean jogged over, slightly dazed.  
“Is your fool brother ok?” Rufus asked  
“Sammy’s fine,” Dean nodded, holding up his phone. “Cas said.”   
“Officer Castiel?”   
“Bingo.” Dean replied.   
“… Lets you call him ‘Cas’?”   
Dean shot him an annoyed look, rolling his eyes. “C’mon dude there are bigger things to be concentrating on right now.”   
“Well let us know if you find out anything.” Rufus told him, shaking his head.   
“Will do.” Dean grinned, jogging back towards the smoking building and finally spotting a beige trench coat.   
There was a lot to be said about Dean’s devotion to his brother in this moment, especially considering that Police Officer Castiel had his authoritative voice on and his hair was still scrunched in a pattern that, if Dean had checked, would probably match his hands – that he didn’t simply jump on the officer right then and demand that they finish what they started.   
As it was, Dean’s internal voice was saying something along the lines of  
Sammy, make sure Sam is ok, look after Sam, is Sam alright, Sammy, Sammy, Sam-  
“Sam?” Dean finally managed to say when he got close enough to be in hearing range of Castiel. Cas turned to look at him, some of the worry lines melting off his face, and gestured to the back of an ambulance a little while away.   
Sam was sitting there, his suit askew and a sad look on his face, meekly speaking to a police officer with a shock blanket wrapped securely around his large shoulders.   
“Thanks, Cas.” Dean managed to mutter before he turned and jogged to Sam, holding back from a full embarrassing family embrace, but managing to do the awkward man hug which involved a lot of hand shaking and back hitting.   
“Hey, Dean.” Sam said, which meant I’m fine and I’m glad you’re here and I’m sorry that I made you worried.  
“Hey there, Sammy.” He replied, which meant Jesus Christ don’t ever think of scaring me like that again, I’m just glad you’re ok and I’ll always be here for you even when you’re eighty-freaking-years old and I have to drive one of those old-people-mopeds to get to you. But I’m never going to say this out loud, and if I did I would deny it.   
Dean Winchester is a goddamn man.   
With an unnaturally clean ass, but that’s…   
Dean frowned, his train of thought derailing and his brother frowning at him as it happened.   
“Never mind.” Dean said, grinning. “I’m glad you’re ok, Sam.”   
“I just feel horrible about Emma,” he replied, his lips pressing together tightly.   
“Secretary?” Dean asked  
“She was just going home when the blast went off. She was in her car and it just…” Sam shook his head, averting his eyes.   
“Huh.” Dean frowned. “Was she parked near you?”   
“Right next to.” Sam nodded, “I was just telling Officer Gabriel.”   
It was then Dean noticed that the man next to his brother was indeed the soda-drinking, gay-advice-giving, weird-compliment-purveyor that he had met earlier today.   
“Good to see you again, Officer Gabriel.”   
“Please, Dean. Call me Gabe. How did things go with Officer Castiel?” He wiggled his eyebrows obscenely and Dean did his best – manly, manly, man. – to fight down the blush.   
“You had to talk to an Officer, Dean?” Sam asked  
“Oh, it was about something yesterday, nothing serious.” Dean brushed off  
“Dean here captured the friendly neighbourhood psychopath that has been slipping us for weeks.” Gabe grinned, beaming at Dean like he was the goddamn policeman’s kid.   
“Dude!” Sam said accusingly.   
“Hey, I was going to tell you!” Dean said. “As soon as you got home from the freaking office!”  
The mention of the building made the three men remember the situation they were in, and the mood grew sombre once again.   
“Hey Sam, I can get the rest of your statement tomorrow. You should go home with Dean.” Gabe suggested, offering a brief smile that seemed to be heavy with something Dean couldn’t quite read, but then he had left and Sam was shrugging off the shock blanket to follow Dean to his car.   
“Let’s get home, I’m starving.” Sam complained, getting into the impala with a bit of difficulty and then settling into the leather as if he had lived in the passenger’s seat for years.   
“Sure thing,” Dean agreed, his eyes scanning the crowd and finally finding Cas, he was in the middle of talking to three other officers and Dean guessed that maybe he’d talk to him later.   
Once he had reinstated his manliness and gotten his kid brother something to eat.   
xXx

Dropping Sam off at work the next morning had Dean remembering their childhood with an almost painful accuracy, and he felt as though he should be checking that Sam had his packed lunch and reassuring his dad that he’d make sure no one gave Sammy a hard time.   
“Dude, if you make a stupid joke right now I will literally break your nose.” Sam warned when they pulled up at the police station – where Sam was setting up a temporary office in the back of.   
“Just have a good day at work, Sammy.” Dean replied, unable to keep the grin off his face.   
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath mostly through his nose before clambering out of the car and walking with measured pace to the office. Dean waited until he was out of sight before edging forward in the Impala, surveying the damage of Sam’s old office.   
Most of it had been cleared, but Dean’s brain sucked in as much information as he could whilst building on the millions of theories that had kept him awake all night.   
He scrubbed his hand over his face as he looked at the spot his brother had parked his car, the office where Jim Lyons used to work…   
Something in his gut told him that these attacks weren’t random, and it had probably come to the police officer’s attention that the attack seemed to be targeting… well…   
“Sammy.” Dean breathed out lowly, shaking his head. “Will I ever be able to stop looking out for you, man?” He muttered.   
But why would anyone want to hurt Sam?   
Dean had already, for reasons not entirely known to him, decided against involving Sam in the little private investigation he was doing. He had spent the night going over theories, trying to work out what on earth Sam might have done to warrant an aggravated attack.   
He felt a painful twinge in his gut, remembering what Sam had said after their mother had died in a house fire.   
“But what did mom do to make the man so angry?” his little brother had been looking up at him with those huge puppy eyes, and Dean, all of eleven years old, had only been able to shrug and hug Sammy tighter.   
That house fire was the thing that had stayed in Dean’s memories for so long, the unprovoked attack, the fire that somehow started in Sam’s nursery and might have killed him if John hadn’t come running at Mary’s scream…   
Dean slammed on the brakes to the car, his head whirring, because suddenly he was remembering another fire that had cost the life of a mother and almost cost the life of a son.   
“Son of a bitch.” He whispered to himself, turning his baby around immediately and heading home at something that was just a little over the speed limit.   
He ran in the door and fired up his laptop, kicking his boots off and shrugging out of his jacket as the machine slowly whirred to life. He managed to open the internet and then he was back on pages he had poured over a thousand times, finally seeing what was so glaringly obvious.   
The fire that had killed Sebastian Lyon’s mother happened in the same year as their mother’s murder.   
Reading the account again, he cast his memory back to that night and to any subsequent conversations.   
The Lyon family were at home together when a fire started in six-month-old Sebastian’s nursery.   
Dean could remember, vaguely, their family being at home by themselves. Mary going to check on the baby.   
Rosetta Lyon, unfortunately, was killed in the blaze along with her child. Jim Lyon, the sole survivor, claims to have seen a man running from the scene. Though unable to get a good look, Jim states the man was around 6ft, Caucasian, with blonde hair.   
That’s where Dean’s breath caught, because he would never forget the information that John had told him when he was fifteen.   
That after hearing Mary scream, John had ran upstairs, found his wife already dead, found a man leaning over the cradle.   
John’s army training had kicked in and he had managed to protect Sam, long enough to make the man run, but not long enough to put out the fire or to save his wife.   
Dean walked to the kitchen, head spinning, pouring himself a whiskey despite the fact it was only 10 a.m.   
So what had happened?   
Dean had often wondered what that man was doing, standing over Sam’s cradle.   
Had he been trying to do what he did to Sebastian?   
What did he do to Sebastian?   
Dean was staring at his phone, knowing exactly where he could get answers but not sure how much his probing would be appreciated. He needed to find out what had happened to Sebastian in those years that he was missing.   
Did the man steal Sebastian from his crib? Start the fire?   
And why was Sebastian back to kill Jim and… Sam?   
Dean downed the whiskey in one gulp and resolutely picked up his phone, dialling Cas’ number and leaning against the kitchen bench. He needed answers if he was going to continue his research and find out how to protect his little brother.   
“Hello, this is Officer Castiel Novak speaking?” his voice was low and rough, it threw Dean off for a moment and he was acutely reminded of just how goddamn sexy the officer he was on the phone to was. He was momentarily stumped, ready to ask ‘what are you wearing?’ instead of continuing with this rather serious conversation he had planned.   
“Cas? It’s Dean. I think I know something about the case.” He didn’t think it was necessary to mention which case.   
“Dean? You… how do you kn- you know what, never mind. Ok, what is it?” Castiel asked.   
“Can I come in and see you? It’s kind of a lengthy story.” Dean muttered, already pulling his boots back on.   
“No, Dean, you can’t just come down here and-” Castiel was cut off by another voice on his end of the line, and Dean could practically feel the tension thrumming down the tiny speaker in his phone. A twinge of guilt hit him somewhere in the abdomen, wondering about how Cas was getting on in the wake of everything that was happening.   
“Dean?” His voice came back through the phone, clear and authoritative.  
“Yes?”   
“I’ll come over after work and we can discuss your new lead.” Cas said in a voice that booked no arguments.   
“And while you’re here we could maybe go over some of the finer points on our previous conversation?” Dean couldn’t resist slipping in the line, and he heard Castiel clear his throat on the other end.   
“Yes, well. I do believe I promised you we would continue that conversation when we had more time.” Cas acknowledged, his voice somehow a semi tone deeper.   
“I’ll be waiting, Officer.” Dean said, smirking.   
“Good bye.” Cas replied, his phone beeping to let him know that the conversation was over.   
Dean was torn between giving his enema kit a follow up usage and jumping on the laptop to do more research. In the end, it was research that won out, and Dean collapsed on the couch with a muttered curse and a vow that one day, Sam would get him back for all the blue-balling that had occurred because of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ninety percent sure there will be more sexual incidents next chapter. Thanks for reading, pal! xo


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> m/m in this chapter, good times.

When the door had opened of its own volition, Dean had almost jumped out of his skin, checking the time and despairingly realising he was wearing gray sweat pants and a bath robe.   
Sam’s head had then poked around the corner, and Dean’s breath had left him in one relieved gush that ended with him slumped slightly against the couch he had just almost fallen from.   
“Sam, I thought you might have been… someone else.” Dean said, waving his hand against the onslaught of Sam’s concerned expression.   
“Right, um, I’m just checking in to get changed. I’m heading over to a friend’s house for drinks soon, you’re welcome to join.” Sam said offhandedly, depositing his briefcase on the other couch then making his way to the kitchen and loosening his tie.   
“Ah, I’ve got to stay here. Cas is coming over for my statement about that kid I tackled.” Dean called back in the direction of the kitchen, closing his laptop and shuffling the notes he had made into a semi-organised pile.   
Sam’s head was back around the corner, looking at him with a kind of confused expression.   
“Officer Castiel?” He asked  
“Yeah, Officer Castiel.” Dean confirmed, tugging his robe around his bare shoulders.   
“Is coming to our house?” Sam then asked, and Dean felt something twinge happily inside him at the use of our house. But then he realised Sam had asked a question and managed to give a stiff nod as answer.   
“And lets you call him… Cas?”   
“Why is that so weird to everyone?” Dean asked with a scowl, moving into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of milk as Sam shuffled around him, finding a bottle of wine and putting it in a bag.   
“No, no, it’s fine. I hope you and, uh, Cas have fun here.” Sam said, looking a little concerned.  
“Want me to drop you off at your friend’s house, Samantha?” Dean replied, ruffling his little brother’s hair. Sam sent him back a bitchy expression.   
“Gabe’s picking me up, thanks.” He muttered, hitting away Dean’s hands and then taking off towards the stairs.  
Dean chuckled to himself, sipping at his milk and scowling at the clock that was telling him he only had ten or so minutes to make himself presentable for Cas – something that he would have to do subtly enough that his little brother wouldn’t notice.   
He groaned, making his way to the stairs and shuffling up them slowly.   
In was fifteen minutes later that Sam was exiting the house, Dean calling out to him to have fun on his date with Gabe, and Sam replying that Dean’s date was here now, and then Cas was walking in the door with an amused look in his eye and a bag of take out in his arms.   
If his little brother wasn’t sitting in the driveway, Dean might have kissed him.   
“How was work?” He asked instead, helping Cas in the door and closing it behind him.   
“Busy,” Cas replied. “How was your day?”   
“Interesting. Very… um. Research-y.” Dean said, nodding. “We can talk about that later, though, if you want.”   
Dean couldn’t help but feel a little panicked at the thought of eating dinner with Cas. What was this damn relationship? Were they at a stage of eating dinner together?  
Was this a date?  
Was it just sex?  
Was Dean... about to enter some kind of gay relationship?   
“Where are your bowls?” Cas was asking from the kitchen, and Dean reminded himself that not 24 hours earlier, Dean was coming at the thought of being homosexually sodomised by this man.   
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Dean replied, moving around him to reach for the cutlery, and they were both ebbing and flowing in the space as though they had been doing it for years, when in reality Cas had been in this damn kitchen once and that one time he had been,   
Dean cleared his throat.   
Busy.   
“So is this our first, second, or third date by your measure?” Cas asked casually, making Dean splutter.   
“Well, depends what you consider a date.” Dean replied eventually, finding he wasn’t as panicked as he thought he might have been by the d-word.   
“I don’t think making out in my office really counted,” Cas commented, drawing a chuckle from Dean. “Or exchanging sexual favors against the door.”   
“Do you want me to light candles or something, Cassandra, or are we all good to eat the damn Chinese food?” Dean muttered, making Cas laugh.   
“So romantic,” he sighed, taking his bowl to the counter and leaning against it, spooning rice into his mouth in an impossibly erotic way.   
“That’s me, sugar.” Dean said with a wink, moving to lean across from him, taking in the bags under his eyes and the dishevelled mess of his hair, wondering if Cas was sleeping ok, thinking of sleeping with Cas, thinking of other things and then god damn it,  
“You make it difficult to concentrate, you know that?” Dean grumbled, shifting his eyes away from Cas so that he could focus instead on eating the food.   
“Says you, green eyes and pectoral muscles.” Cas replied.   
“Yeah says me, blue eyes and sex hair.”   
“Sex hair.” Cas repeated, a hand going to the untidy mop. “Not yet.”   
Dean groaned.   
“At least let me finish my dinner before giving me an erection, officer.” Dean grumbled.   
Cas raised his eyebrows, eyes scanning over his figure until they reached the place his torso disappeared under the counter.   
“Really?”  
“You’ll never know.” Dean said around a mouthful of rice. “In this moment, my penis is possibly erect or flaccid.”   
“Schrodinger’s penis.” Cas said, and then they were both spluttering mouthfuls of Chinese food out around their laughter, ending when Dean poured them both glasses of water and they managed to swallow enough that they could breathe properly again.   
“So,” Cas said carefully. “Case first, or…”  
“Case first. We’ll never get around to it if we start now.” Dean said.   
“I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment,” Cas mused.   
“Take it as a compliment,” Dean advised. He was going to add on that if Cas so much as touched him right now, he couldn’t be held responsible for all the extra touching that would ensue.   
Being in close proximity with him was a little disorienting at the best of times, but having him in the kitchen of his and Sam’s house, all domestic energy and tired smiles, it was something too close to happiness in his chest that was making him want to show Castiel exactly how much he had affected him in the mere few days they had known each other.   
Having him this close, Jesus, Dean wanted everything.   
He wanted the rough fucking, the uncontrollable want of mouths and tongues and teeth and hands and gripping and stroking and sucking.   
But he wanted more than that, he wanted the long, slow kisses before bed. He wanted one arm flung over his waist when he woke up in the morning. He wanted nuzzling into sleep-warm skin and nights in front of the television.   
He wondered what had changed him so much from the woman-hunter lady killing machine he had been. The violently heterosexual man who had gone off to war. Was it Afghanistan that had changed him?   
He guessed it was something deeper. Something to do with the fact that his best friend growing up was Sam, that he was so close to his dad, that women had always equalled either mom or sex and men had always equalled… well, relationships.   
Man up, Winchester. Time to look after Sammy.   
“Laptop’s this way,” Dean said, leading Cas to the couch and trying not to show the homosexual domestic thoughts that had been flitting through his mind.   
“I… um, I’ve been doing some research.” He told Cas, gauging his reaction. “I’m not sure how legal this is, or where you guys are on the case or anything but… I don’t know. From what I’ve seen and how much I’ve read it kind of looks more and more like the target of these attacks might be…”  
Dean dropped off the end of his sentence, and Cas nodded slowly.   
“The police are open to the idea that Sam may be the one these people are targeting.” Cas said.   
“Right, which is why I’ve been a little obsessive with this.” Dean shrugged. “You probably know better than me, better than most, about the attack on Jim Lyons’ home, right?”   
“I wasn’t in Lawrence at the time, but I’ve been reading the file, yes.” Cas stated.   
“Right, about the fire and the guy who, well, probably kidnapped Sebastian.” Dean said, “I guess you probably made the link with Sam already, right?”   
“The police have been focussing on the questioning of Sebastian, what link are you talking about?”   
“The nursery fire,” Dean explained, but was met with a blank look. “When Sammy was six months old, there was a nursery fire. Dad said there was a man in his room, but he…”  
Cas had gone very still, his eyebrows raised.   
“You think that whoever kidnapped Sebastian was trying to do the same thing to Sam?” he asked  
“And he didn’t get a hold of Sam, and now he’s back to, I’m not sure. Kill him? Yeah, that’s what I think.”   
“Dean this is… I need to get back to the station.”   
“I need to know what Sebastian has been saying. I need to know if Sam’s in danger.” Dean said urgently, standing up at the same time Cas did. “Whatever that psychopath did to Sebastian is something that might of happened to Sam and… I need to know, Cas.”   
“I know, Dean, but I can’t give out information on a case. This is sensitive stuff, and if my boss found out I could lose my job.”   
“If you guys screw this up I could lose my brother.” Dean’s voice came out firm and angry, his Captain Winchester voice that made men stand to attention. As it was, Cas stood a little straighter.   
Mental note: Cas reacts to army voice. Test this later.   
“I’ll see what I can do, Dean.” Cas promised, and his voice was lighter, somehow more tired. Dean nodded, raised one hand to his shoulder.   
Cas soaked up the touch, turning towards it like a sunflower towards the warmth and heat of the sun. Dean moved his hand from his shoulder up to his face, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone and leaning down to capture those perpetually dry lips in a chaste kiss.   
Well, it was supposed to be chaste.  
Cas parted his lips, breath ghosting across his mouth, pushing into the kiss with non-urgent pressure. Their tongues met in the middle, a slow, slick slide that sent shocks right down towards Dean’s abdomen.   
When Dean drew Cas’ lip into his mouth and bit lightly, a gasp tore through him, and then he was clutching at Dean’s shoulders and flicking his tongue roughly against his lips, and Dean backed him up until he crashed to the couch, their argument momentarily forgotten against the onslaught of physical sensation.  
Cas was rutting towards him, the hard length of him pressed against the inside of Dean’s thigh. It was ridiculously hot, and Dean pressed the heel of his hand into the bulge, relishing in the groan that escaped Cas’ lips and sucking it into his own mouth.   
“Dean,” Cas whispered, and Dean nodded, unbuttoning Cas’ slacks and palming his cock through the boxers.   
“Dean,” Cas repeated, and his voice sounded so fucking gone and so broken, and Dean let out a groan, all of a sudden wrapped in an unbelievable need to give pleasure. He sank to his knees next to the couch on the plush carpet, yanking at the slacks so Cas’ thin hips were clothed only in dark blue boxers, the material darker around the head of his cock that was straining against the fabric. Dean leaned down, lapping against his cock, tasting the fabric-and-precum flavour against his tongue and letting out another low groan.   
“Wait,” Cas said, and Dean bought his eyes back to Cas’ face, all flushed and slack and beautiful.   
“Lay down,” Cas urged, and Dean did exactly that, giving him help when he struggled against the button of Dean’s jeans and the tight t-shirt. Dean then unbuttoned his shirt, leaving them both clothed only in their underpants, and then Cas was nuzzling at the outline of his cock and Dean was treated with the view of Cas’ ass in the air, and the vision of fucking him assaulted his mind with stunning clarity, and then the memory of what Cas had done last time against the kitchen bench.  
With a low growl, Dean hooked his arms around the front of Cas’ thighs, pulling him roughly back and shoving hands down his boxers to rid him of the offending garment, leaving Cas pinned against Dean’s chest, erection pressing hotly at the skin below his collarbone, boxers around his knees.   
Dean’s hands on the globes of his ass fit so perfectly, and he spread them to reveal the pucker of Cas’ ass, and with a single fleeting thought of mine, he pressed his tongue slowly into him.   
Cas let out a loud groan, unashamedly pressing back against the warm, wet intrusion of him, opening beautifully. He tasted of salt and earth and soap and Cas and Dean couldn’t get enough, spearing his tongue inside the warmth, lapping around the edges, sucking carefully before penetrating back in.   
Cas was writhing above him, letting out these little puffs of breath that Dean suddenly felt against his hip bone when Cas crumpled, his elbows braced either side of Dean’s waist.   
Any shred of clarity he might have had was suddenly diminished when he felt the wet heat of Cas’ mouth on his cock.   
Cas was suckling at him, nursing the head of his dick like it was something delicious, letting out these little encouraging moans and still pressing back against the tongue inside of him, and it felt so good, it felt like Dean’s undoing.   
He was lost in a haze of pleasure, the movement of Cas above him and the wet channel of his mouth around his dick, bobbing slowly and lapping at the precum.   
When he felt himself coiling, he let go of Cas’ left hip so he could trail fingers around to where Cas’ dick was, heavy against his own stomach. He had leaked precum all over his abs, and it was easy to slide his hand into a fist and begin pumping him lazily in strong, sure strokes that made Cas groan loudly around the length of him.   
Dean’s tongue was spearing into him quickly now, and his fist was picking up momentum, causing Cas to suck harder and bob faster, and soon they were both caught in a symbiotic movement of giving and receiving pleasure, so that when Dean’s orgasm finally crashed over him it seemed to last forever, stuck in the swallowing motion of Cas’ throat, and the soft kitten licks Dean was pressing against Cas’ fluttering hole.   
They both eventually stopped, slowing to a standstill and even then just laying there, Cas’ mouth next to his cock and Dean’s face cushioned against Cas’ calf muscle.   
Eventually they made a kind of mutual agreement to move, and they found themselves standing in front of each other, completely naked, stomachs smeared with Cas’ come, grinning madly.   
“If you kiss me right now, I may actually kill you.” Cas said when Dean had swayed forward.   
“Right,” Dean replied quickly. “Ass, right.” He repeated, giggling slightly to himself as he bent over to locate his boxers and pulling them up.   
“Shower?” Dean suggested.   
“Only if we can do it separately, or I’ll never be leaving this house.” Cas said, picking up his clothes from where they were scattered around the couch.   
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Dean muttered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You can go first.”   
“Thanks,” Cas mumbled  
“Up the stairs, to the left. Blue towel is mine, so you can use that.” Dean ruffled his hair fondly. “Would you like a coffee for the road?”  
“That would be…” Cas nodded. “Good.”   
“Good.” Dean repeated.   
Gay, a voice in his head replied.   
Damn straight, another voice responded.


	6. Chapter Six

Sunlight, Dean mused from where he was standing in the middle of the desert, should not be this hot.   
It was a moment in his dream that felt too surreal, too different. He was attuned to the Afghanistan sun, he had grown used to it in his time over there, but this sunlight was scorching and searing, branding itself on his skin.   
The first inhalation of smoke had him snapping awake, sitting up in his bed and looking over his surroundings, taking in as much as possible in one take.   
He had fallen asleep on the couch again, and all around him were leaping orange flames. On the curtains and spreading across the furniture, searing hot and making Dean remember the last time he had seen a house fire, back when he was only eight years old.   
“Sam!” he shouted immediately, before remembering that his brother was over at someone’s house, somewhere safe.   
Swivelling in his seat, he saw a lanky body exiting through the back door, a young boy.   
“Hey!” Dean shouted, scrambling out from under the covers and then pausing, wondering if Sam has a fire extinguisher, trying to make a split second decision to either save Sam’s house, save himself, or catch the asshole that had apparently lit the fire.   
He snatched the laptop from the table, pulling out his phone and dialling 911 whilst simultaneously stepping towards the back door, running towards it and looking across the cool night where the person – who might have been a hallucination, might not have been real except for all of Dean’s training telling him to trust his own eyes – had apparently vanished.   
There was a voice on the other end of the line now, and Dean snapped back to attention.   
“Fire,” he said absently, looking back into the house and trying to deduce how much he could save before it became a health hazard. He reeled off the address to the woman and then hung up, stuffing it in his pocket and leaving his laptop on the grass, running back into the house and grabbing what he could. The stairs were already consumed, so he grabbed a few things from the kitchen, the photos from the mantle, Sam’s phone charger.   
He was waiting on the grass, then, surrounded by a small pile of belongings and staring with disbelief at the growing flames.   
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered  
Sirens sounded and Dean gathered the things he had saved together, moving to the other side of the street so that the firemen could do their thing.   
Police cars were converging as well, vehicles suddenly appearing in front of their house and immediately setting to work.   
Officer Castiel was there, too, looking around with wild eyes until he spotted Dean. It was like someone had tranquilised him, the calm that spread throughout the man upon seeing Dean. He began the walk over, smiling when he neared and stopping himself a few meters away.   
“You’re ok,” Cas said.  
“Fine and dandy,” Dean replied, his voice roughened from sleep and from the smoke.   
“I heard the call come in and I knew Sam was out, I didn’t know if…” Cas trailed off, his eyes scanning over Dean quickly, as if trying to take in every detail. Dean knew he was still wearing the same clothes Cas had left him in, and he was crouched on the lawn surrounded by photos and electrical goods.   
“Worried about me, Officer?” Dean joked.   
“Yes,” Cas replied, and Dean realised that he really had been. This casual fling, having known each other only a few days, had somehow spiralled out of control.   
He pushed it down within himself, suppressing the emotions when he saw another squad car pull up, Gabriel and Sam exiting.   
“Sammy!” Dean shouted, and Sam caught sight of him, mouthing the words ‘thank god,’ before running towards him, not stopping short as Cas had, but rather grabbing his shoulders and forcing him into a rough hug.   
“The call came through on Gabe’s radio, and I was so worried.” Sam told him from where his face was buried in Dean’s neck.   
Dean could smell the wine, knew his brother was probably tipsy, smiled despite himself because they were ok.   
“I’m fine, Sammy. I even managed to save your laptop.”   
“You’re the best.”   
“I know.” Dean grinned, groaning internally when he saw the ambulance pull up.   
“We’ll need to give you a once over, Mr. Winchester.” Cas said, his voice strangely formal. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him, the newly straightened posture, the hard stare. It was then the situation came crashing down on Dean again, the fact someone had tried to burn down Sam’s house to get Sam. Castiel hadn’t managed to protect his little brother, and quite frankly it looked like the whole police force wasn’t up to it.   
“Of course, Officer.” Dean said stoically and let Cas escort him to the ambulance.   
“This was targeted at Sam,” Dean said out of the corner of his mouth when they were out of earshot.   
“We’ll look into it.” Cas promised  
“No, Cas, I’ll look into it. I’m going to look after my little brother because I was almost burned to death, do you understand me?” Dean said, his voice low and harsh.   
“Dean, you handled the situation. You can’t look into the case by yourself, you wouldn’t know-”  
“I know how to look after Sam, ok?” Dean said swivelling to face him, trying to block out the clawing at his throat when he realised just how close they were standing. He let out a sigh, returning his gaze to Cas with a pleading lilt.   
“I need to know what Sebastian has been saying.” He said  
“Dean, you know I can’t give you that information.” Cas replied blankly  
“Cas,” Dean’s voice was warning. “I need that information, and I will get it with or without your help.”   
“I could lose my job, Dean. I can’t just give you sensitive information like that,” Cas told him, but there was a new tone in his voice. Dean squinted slightly when Cas reached into his trench coat, pulling out a pen and paper and writing something down, quietly putting it into Dean’s pocket.  
“Don’t get arrested, Dean.” Cas muttered, leaving him by the ambulance and stalking off towards the rest of his squad.   
Dean ran his fingers over the folded piece of paper that was cool in his pocket, fighting the urge to pull it out and read it here.   
“Reckon I could get a statement out of you while they’re making sure all systems are still go?” Gabriel sauntered over, his police uniform crumpled from where he must have pulled it on. The ambulance official was going over Dean, placing a blanket on his shoulders and asking him to breathe at random intervals.   
“Sure thing, Gabe.” Dean replied, tired but somehow buzzing.   
“Wanna describe what happened?” Gabe suggested  
“I was sleeping on the couch and I woke up to the fire, there was some kid there that ran out. I tried to chase him but he got away,” Dean said. “I didn’t get a good look at him, he was lanky, maybe five foot nine, male and kind of dirty looking. When he saw I was awake he bolted, went out the backdoor. Then I grabbed what I could and got out.”  
Gabriel wrote notes in silence as Dean spoke, nodding occasionally.   
“That’s great, Dean-o. We’ll be in contact.” Gabe said quickly, looking like he perhaps wanted to say more but then decided against it, giving him a smirk instead and then sauntering to where the majority of the policemen were standing around.   
“Crazy stuff, huh?” Sam asked him, looking over at his brother with those patented puppy dog eyes.  
“I’ll say,” Dean muttered, finally taking in his little brother. “So what’d you do, Sammy?”   
“When I heard that there was a fire? I jumped in the car with Gabe and t-”  
“I meant, what did you do to be the target of these attacks?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.   
Sam gaped at him for a moment. “Dean,” he begun, looking a little erratic. “Surely you don’t think that I could have done anything to provoke this, I mean-”  
“But you do understand that there appears to be a pattern, with the crazy stuff that’s happening?” Dean prompted  
“Of course I do, you don’t think that as soon as Jim died I didn’t start researching the damn case?” Sam asked angrily. “You don’t think I don’t know about the links with Sebastian to the nursery fires, or the fact that Emma has the same kind of car as I had, or… Jesus Christ, Dean, I have been looking into this for months now.”   
Dean couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face at that, the idea that all these things that he had been worrying over, his little brother had already found out himself. Damn research nerd, he was.   
“So you understand that you have to go underground, right? Start hiding so that the good officers and I can try and put a stop to all this-”  
“No, Dean.” It was Sam’s turn to cut off his sentences, it appeared. “I’m not just going to run away and let more people get hurt.”   
“Look, I’ve got to-”  
“You don’t understand.” Sam burst. “Two people have been killed because someone wants to hurt me, and then you were almost… Jesus.” Sam shook his head. “Surely you understand I can’t just… what, run away to Bobby’s? While you put your life in danger trying to solve something that is centred on me?”   
Dean was at a loss for words, then, opening and closing his mouth.   
“I’m going to stay here, and I’m going to help. So stop being such a jerk.”   
“Bitch,” Dean immediately muttered.   
They sat in silence for a few moments then, both silently stewing on what had been said.   
“I’m not going to force you to go hiding or anything, Sam.”   
“Damn right, you won’t.”   
“But, I still think we should take some precautions.” Dean was using his older brother voice, the one that used to say ‘its bedtime, Sammy.’ Or ‘eat your damn greens.’   
“Ok.” Sam nodded. “Ok.”   
“Let’s get set up at a motel somewhere, don’t tell anyone where we’re going. Change rooms every now at then, book in under fake names, the whole deal.”   
Sam snorted. “In this town? Please, we’ll walk into the motel and Jo will say ‘Hey Sam! I heard about the fire and put aside a room for you and your brother.’”   
“So we don’t take that room,” Dean said quickly, running over their options. “Maybe we should go stay at Bobby’s, I mean he’s only a town over.”   
“Yeah, and a whole two hours away if anything pops up here that we need to look into.”   
Dean’s hand immediately went to his pocket, fingering the slip of paper and wondering.   
“I told Cas that we needed to see what Sebastian had been saying.” Dean confided, feeling a little better to be working with someone on this, especially his little brother.   
“We’d need to hack in to their filing system, or get a physical copy.” Sam said with a curt nod.   
Dean pulled out the paper, reading what was written there.   
Room 147, cabinet 223, file marked ‘Lyon’.   
“I know where to get it,” Dean said dumbly, staring at the paper that was suddenly snatched from his hand, his brother’s eyes reading what was written there.   
“I’ll get it.” He immediately said  
“Sam.” Dean’s warning tone, some kind of mixture of his older brother voice and his captain voice.   
“I work here at the moment, Dean. I’m out the back all the time. I’ll head in tomorrow, tell them I’m cleaning out some stuff so I can go away for a little while, give them a forwarding address and such, let them know how to contact me so they don’t come looking.”   
“I don’t like it, Sam.”   
“You don’t have to.” He answered, putting the slip into his back pocket. “Tomorrow you’re going to need to stay here, get as many of our belongings as possible, pack up the impala, tell everyone that we’re going to Dad’s old place.”   
“And then Bobby’s?” Dean asked  
“And then Bobby’s.” Sam confirmed. “We’ll work out what to do from there.”   
It wasn’t much, but it felt like a game plan. They could find out what Sebastian was saying, get their information together, and head to Bobby’s where they could finally find out which son of a bitch was behind the attempted murder of his little brother.   
He was so riled up from his new sense of purpose that he almost missed something.   
Cas.   
He was going to have to leave him here, and he was momentarily dumbstruck. Did he tell Cas where they were going? Give him a phone number? Tell him they were leaving?  
The thought of skipping town without telling the police officer gave Dean a sick feeling somewhere in his stomach, though he couldn’t exactly place why.   
Castiel was caught up, explaining something in an exasperated voice to a red haired police officer who looked equally exasperated. When they broke apart, Dean headed over to them, noting that Sam was talking to Gabriel again and wondering what Sam was telling him.   
Gabe was his friend, would Sam trust their whereabouts to him?   
“Cas,” Dean said simply, and that word managed to communicate all the I’m sorry’s: for being such a dick earlier, for coming here, for starting this between them, for leaving now.   
“Dean.” Cas replied, which somehow just said I know.   
“We can’t… stay here.” Dean’s voice had dropped lower.   
“You can’t. I know.” Cas said, nodding. “I’ll check in with you, wherever you two go. Let you know if-”  
“We’ll be coming back, Cas. As soon as I catch the son of a bitch.” Dean promised.   
“Not if I catch him first,” Cas challenged, raising an eyebrow. Dean fought the urge to kiss the self satisfied smirk off his face, and instead indulged in a smile himself.   
“Be safe, ok?” Dean told him. “We’re sticking around tomorrow, but as soon as we have everything we need…”he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.   
“I’ll come see you before you go,” Cas said absently, his tone suggesting that argument would be fruitless.   
“I’ll text you where I am.” Dean replied obediently.   
A moment passed, a beat of confused emotion and a voice in the back of his head telling him how gay he was being, again.   
“Get back to work, Novak.” Dean finally said.   
“You too, Winchester.”   
Dean nodded, signalling to Sam that he was leaving. They ended up walking to the Impala together, bumping shoulders now and then.   
“I’ll direct you to the motel,” He said as he fell into the passenger’s side, Dean climbing in the driver’s seat.   
“You ok, Sammy?” Dean asked, frowning at his brother’s blank expression.   
“Fine and dandy, Dean.” Sam replied stoically, and Dean remembered that this was Sam’s home, this was where all his friends were, where his job was… and now Dean was uprooting him and taking him somewhere else.   
Just like dad did.   
Dean forced that thought out of his mind, not needing another reminder about how damn similar to John Winchester he could be at times. He swallowed noisily instead, put the car in reverse, and watched the flashing lights and spray of hoses in the rear view mirror. 

xXx

With the phone held away from his ear, Dean held up two fingers at the barista and nodded. He could still hear Bobby’s voice coming from the tiny speaker, little snatches of words coming through, like ‘idjits’ and ‘fire’ and ‘get your asses here’.   
“We’ll be coming tonight.” Dean said into the phone, accepting his coffees and giving a short smile to the girl who handed it to him, thinking that perhaps in an earlier life he might have flirted with her.   
A life, perhaps, that wasn’t didn’t involve so much fighting and homosexual feelings towards a certain police officer.   
“Yeah, well, just make sure you get here in one piece.” Bobby’s parting remark was cut off when he hung up the phone, an enraged beeping sound filling Dean’s ear.   
He pocketed the phone and began the walk back to the house, where one fireman was helping him to look through what was left of Sam’s place, packing as much as they could into boxes and putting them in the back of the impala.   
When he got there, he handed the man his coffee and smiled.   
“Thanks for helping me out, again.” Dean said, sipping at his drink.   
“Ah, it’s no problem.” The kid said back. He was short, with dark hair and an innocent face. His name was Sam… something.   
“The boys call me Alfie,” he had suggested when Dean’s clumsy tongue tripped over the name.   
“Alfie,” Dean had repeated, and the kid had smiled like it was Christmas, something that had become somewhat of a trend.   
He was doing it now, that kind of innocent expression.   
“So where will you and Sam go?” He asked  
“Up to our dad’s place.” Dean said, nodding. “It’s only a few hours from here, we should make it before midnight if we leave when Sam finishes work.”   
“I can’t believe he went into work after his house burned down. Sam is extremely committed to his cause.”   
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, checking his phone for the millionth time for a text from his little brother telling him that he’d got the file and he wasn’t under arrest.   
“It’s a shame that you have to go, though. Just when you were getting settled in.” Alfie said.   
“Oh, we’ll be back.” Dean said, returning the grin.   
“Well that’s just great.” Alfie smiled, holding up the coffee. “Thanks again, but I should probably be getting back to the station.”   
“Sure thing, thank you for all your help.”   
“It was no problem, Dean. Good luck.” Alfie gave one more sugar coated smile before clambering into his truck, driving away and leaving Dean next to his baby, filled to the brim with the possessions of Sam’s they’d managed to get.   
A text on his phone came through and he immediately checked it, recognising Sam’s number.   
Got it. I’ll be at the motel around six, going to stop by and say goodbye to a few friends first.   
Dean messaged him back and then climbed in the car, deciding to wait for his brother at the motel. They had slept in a room together last night, revelling in the scratchy sheets and magic fingers, taking them back to their teenage years when John had moved them around and they had frequented motels like this.   
It was dodgy, for sure, connected to Harvelle’s road house and owned by Ellen, with Jo and Ash working at either the bar or the motel respectively.   
When he walked past the foyer it was Ash this time, staring at his laptop screen and murmuring a quick ‘hello’, as Dean walked to his room.   
He opened the door, considered using the magic fingers again, but was immediately bought up short by the presence of another person in the room.   
“Castiel.” He said simply.   
“Close the door.” Cas replied.   
Dean did so immediately.   
“I made a copy of the file that Sam got, put it in place. I’m not happy about this, Dean.”   
“Cas-”  
“I’m putting everything, everything, on the line for you right now, do you understand?” He looked somehow taller, more intimidating in his officer’s uniform. His trench coat had been left at home, evidently, in favour of the navy blue get up, Novak printed across the breast pocket, gun at his waist.   
“Why?” Dean asked   
“Dean.” Cas sounded almost disappointed.   
“We’ve known each other, what, three days?” Dean continued, putting his bag down near the entrance. “You don’t owe me and my brother anything, I mean isn’t this ju-”  
“Don’t you dare say ‘just sex’ to me, Dean Winchester. This stopped being ‘just sex’ the night someone blew up your brother’s car and you asked me to break the law for you.” Cas snapped, crossing to him in three sharp strides. Dean closed his mouth, wanting to rebut something but unable to think of a suitable comeback.   
“Now I don’t know what your game is. You come into town, make everything different somehow, make me care about you despite knowing you – as you keep putting in my face – three days. And now you’re leaving, and so help me God if you don’t come back.”   
“Cas,” it was Dean’s turn to sound disappointed. “We’ll come back, of course we’ll come back.”   
“If you’re not killed first.” Cas said.   
“Hey, if Afghanistan couldn’t take me down, what makes you think a psychopath with a lighter could?” Dean spread his arms and smiled, but Cas didn’t move.   
“You’re not invincible, Dean.” Cas said, and he sounded subdued. “You have to… be careful. You and Sam both.”   
“We will.” Dean promised.   
“You will.” Cas echoed, somehow making it sound like a threat. He breathed out a sigh, then, looking up at Dean through those goddamn blue eyes.   
He surged to his toes, suddenly capturing Dean’s lips in a searing kiss. His hands had fisted against the lapels of his jacket, and Dean took hold of his wrists, feeling like he was being fought rather than kissed, trying to hold his own against the onslaught of teeth and tongue and lips. It was full of tumultuous emotion, and when Dean tried to pull away, Cas just gripped him tighter, pouring himself over and over again with the stroke of his tongue and the pull of his teeth into the kiss until there was nothing left to give, and they broke away minutely, so Cas’ lips still brushed against his when he spoke.   
“You text me, everyday, you make sure you text me.” Cas was breathing against him.   
“Sure, Cas.” Dean said, pulling him closer, pressing three small kisses against the corner of his mouth, breathing in the coffee and sugar smell of him.   
“Goodbye, Dean.” Cas said, giving him a curt nod and finally pulling away, the yawning chasm of space between them making Dean realise just how much he was going to miss the physical contact he had been subject to over the past few days.  
“I’ll seeya later, Cas.” Dean replied, smiling confidently as Cas walked past him and out of the room. As soon as the door was closed, he slumped, taking in a few shaky breaths and convincing himself it was impossible to care for someone this much after knowing them three days.   
A message buzzed on his phone from Sam, telling him he was on his way to the motel and that Gabe was dropping him off. Dean sent back a confirmation and began packing the room, wondering why it felt so much like leaving home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter longer? It might be longer. Angst? What angst. I’ve had so many toasted cheese sandwiches and cigarettes to keep me writing this damn chapter ok, this chapter is my Everest and I’m quite frankly not happy with it but I just want you all to have nice things, ok? Lovely things, like fanfiction updates and … idk, dreams about Dean being a stripper. And thoughts of MISHA COLLINS IN A POLICE UNIFORM, AM I RIGHT? There will be Bobby next chapter, and maybe some phone sex because let’s be real here, Castiel’s voice was literally created for dirty talk. That is its purpose. And I plan on utilising that purpose.


	7. Chapter Seven

A lot could happen in a week.  
You may not care that Monday was blue, Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday, too. Thursday, I don’t care about you.  
It’s Friday, Dean is-  
“Sam I swear to Jesus, I cannot deal with The Cure this early.”  
“It’s eleven a.m., Dean. And I like the song, it’s kind of… nice.”  
“Will you two stop bickering, I think I’ve found something.”  
The two boys raised their heads from the files they were buried in, looking over at Bobby with eyebrows raised hopefully.  
They had been at this for a whole week, a whole week of reading over Sebastian’s file and trawling the internet hoping for some help.  
Sebastian’s file had been mostly unhelpful, lots of ambiguous remarks and bad grammar squeezed onto two A4 pages of notes despite the fact that the time stamps dictated they had been in a room with him for over six hours.  
 _I have to get back to him, he’ll be angry at me._ That sentence was uttered no fewer than 10 times, followed by a note that ‘the interrogating officers then inquired as to who ‘he’ was, only to be met with another full hour of uncooperative silence.’  
Dean scowled, hoping what Bobby had was a little more helpful than Sebastian fucking Lyon.  
“House burned down, two cities over. Victim was killed, but the neighbor says they saw a teenager running from the scene of the crime.” Bobby read out, pouring himself another drink and taking a hearty swig.  
Sam turned to Dean, corners of his mouth turning down in a frown.  
“Sounds like our guy,” he commented  
“Sounds pretty vague to me, I mean if we looked for every arson attempt by a teenager we’d be driving all over America in no time.” Dean muttered.  
“Yeah, but this is only forty five minutes away. You should go check it out.” Bobby told him, looking exasperated.  
And no wonder. He had been putting up with the Winchester boys for a whole week, both of whom seemed needlessly twitchy.  
“So, what?” Dean stood up, abandoning the file he had been reading for the millionth time about how Sebastian _needs to get back to him_ , because _he’ll be angry_. “We just roll into town, go into the police station, smile warmly at the officers and ask them if we could grab a copy of the file so we can compare it to another illegally obtained file back at home where we’re hiding out because a psychopath is trying to murder my little brother?”  
“No, you idjit. You’ve got to be smart about it.” Bobby muttered. “I think I have a plan.” 

xXx

“Hello, Dean.”  
His voice was even deeper over the phone, the little speaker crackling slightly.  
“Hey there Officer,” Dean had replied, grinning obscenely to the empty expanse of his room.  
“I trust you made it to Bobby’s ok, then?” he asked  
“A ok, Cas. All is well at Fort Winchester.”  
“And I suppose I can’t know where you two are?” Cas asked, making Dean’s stomach lurch.  
“Two hours away, Cas. We’re safe.”  
Cas sighed, the exhalation of breath sounding like static.  
“I suppose that’s the best I could hope for.” He said grudgingly. “Will you call me tomorrow?”  
“Sure, Cas.” Dean agreed. “Around this time, ok?”  
“That’ll be fine.”  
“Ok. I’ll talk to you then.”  
“Goodbye, Dean.” 

xXx

The printer screeched in protest, as if it couldn’t believe what it was printing.  
Dean wanted to tell it that the feeling was mutual. He stared down at his own blank face, printed next to three big letters that could get him into big trouble.  
“My own fake FBI badge,” he commented, slipping it into his wallet. “oh yeah, this feels safe.”  
“You got a better idea?” Bobby asked gruffly, passing Sam’s to him. Dean huffed a sigh, straightening the suit jacket he had been forced into.  
“We’ll be fine, Dean. Just go in, ask for the file, tell them it’s for a bigger case…”  
“What if we stuff up the jargon, say something that means something else or… something?” Dean asked hurriedly.  
“Oh please, you’ve watched enough cop shows to know what to say.” Sam replied.  
“And if they question you, just direct them to me.” Bobby added, handing them both a business card with the number of their ‘supervisor’ on them. He had procured an old nokia from the kitchen and written ‘FBI phone’ on the back in black marker pen.  
“Great. Team ‘Save Sammy’, we’ve got an old drunk, the guy that every grubby teenager wants to kill, and an ex-army officer.” Dean commented.  
“Could be worse,” Sam said with a grin. 

xXx

“You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?” Cas asked.  
“Cas, I’ve been here two days, how much trouble do you think I could possibly be in?” Dean grumbled from where he was perched, out on an old car in Bobby’s junk yard. The night was warm, the stars easier to see due to their separation from civilisation.  
Cas sighed noisily over the line.  
“Ok, so we’re doing a few things that Officer Castiel might not be too happy with, but we’re not doing anything super illegal.”  
“Dean,” Cas whined  
“It’s for the greater good, sweetheart.” Dean said with a confident grin. “I’ll let you know if I’m going to do anything you’d need to send the police helicopter for.”  
“You are not reassuring me, Dean.”  
“That was never part of the plan, Cas.” 

xXx

Only a few hours after Bobby had suggested this whole mess, Sam and Dean were sitting in the Impala and getting ready to drive off.  
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam said quietly.  
“Ya think?” Dean replied, breathing out noisily. “This is one of those make-or-break things, though. We’re either going to pull this off, get the information, and it’ll all be great.”  
“Or,” Sam prompted  
“Or we’re going to fuck up horribly and spend the night in jail.” Dean added with a shrug, wondering if he should be calling Cas. It was on Tuesday night, the second night they had been there, he had joked that he would tell him if they were doing anything super illegal.  
Was this super illegal?  
Yes, a part of him supplied, yes it is.  
“Not reassuring.” Sam muttered.  
“Alright, Sammy. We’ll be fine.” Dean promised, putting a tape in his baby and letting the opening chords of Pink Floyd wash through the car. “Now, let’s go be federal agents.”  
“Great.” Sam scowled, and then they were pulling out of Bobby’s yard. 

xXx

“You’ve spoiled me, you know that?” Cas had said after a break in conversation. Dean was laying on his back on top of an old Dodge, bottle of whiskey on hand, pleasantly warm.  
“How?”  
Cas sighed. “You rolled into town, bought me to mind-numbingly good orgasm two out of the three days you were here, and then rolled out and left me alone with…” Cas mumbled something, and Dean was grinning madly.  
“What, your own right hand not good enough for you, Cas?” Dean asked, biting his lip and feeling his own cock give an interested twitch, mostly at the fact that Cas’ deep voice had just uttered the word ‘orgasm’ over the line. “It’s only been three days, you know.”  
“A lot can happen in three days,” Cas replied, and Dean nodded absently to himself.  
“So, you’re missing me, then?”  
“I never said that.” Cas said defensively.  
“I promise I won’t let it go to my head,” Dean sat up, feeling his head spinning slightly with the sudden change in angle.  
“Sure,” he replied. “You’re probably thinking you’re god’s gift to man, right now.”  
“God’s gift to Castiel’s sexual needs, more like.” Dean replied, slouching against the windscreen.  
“A bit hard to tend to my sexual needs when you’re two hours out of town.” Cas muttered.  
“You underestimate me,” Dean breathed, his tone lowering. “What are you wearing?”  
“Clothes, Winchester. I am wearing clothes.”  
“Play along, Cas.”  
He sighed again, the speaker crackling.  
“Black pants, white top, tie.”  
“Shoes?”  
“No.”  
“Blue tie?”  
“That’s the one.” Cas said, and Dean gave a throaty groan.  
“I love that tie.”  
Cas was momentarily stunned into silence. “Why?”  
“What you were wearing when I first met you, and then again at the station. God, I wanted to gag you with that tie, bend you over in your own office.”  
“Dean, Dean, Dean.” Cas chastised. “Only a few hours after meeting me, you already wanted to get me on my back.”  
“Can you blame me? God Cas, that hair and those eyes and that voice.” Dean let out another appreciative groan, his dick stirring in his pants with what they were about to do. “I think you’ve spoiled me as well.”  
“Dean,” Cas’ voice had dropped into a lower register as well, and Dean imagined he could feel the vibration of it in his chest.  
“God Cas, wish you were here with me. So I could lay you out, please tell me you’re hard right now.” Dean muttered, and Cas gave an affirmative groan.  
“Did you get hard talking to me, or did you call me up all hot and bothered already, hey Cas? God, I’m hard too. Just hearing your voice, makes me think of all the things I want to do to you, all the things we didn’t have time to do.”  
“Dean,” Cas’ voice was breathy, and it sent a shock of arousal through Dean.  
“Are you touching yourself already, Cas?” Dean asked  
“Mm,” Cas groaned.  
“Stop.” Dean said, and there was a brief rustle on the other end, but no rebuttal. Dean put his head in his hands, thinking about what he was about to say, hoping there would be the correct reaction.  
“I said stop. That’s an order, Castiel.” His voice snapped through the empty yard, hard and controlling.  
Cas fucking whimpered.  
“You don’t touch yourself until I say,” Dean said, still in his captain voice. “I had no idea such a respectable police officer could be such a little cock slut.”  
“Dean,” Cas huffed breathlessly.  
“Mm, you want it, don’t you? Wish I was there, I’d put you on your back, suck you deep.” Dean said harshly, unzipping his own jeans. “Remember the feel of my mouth on you, Cas? God, I loved having your cock in my mouth. The taste of you. Wanna suck you right now, Cas. Want to make you come in my mouth. Would you like that?”  
“With all due respect, sir.” Cas said, and his voice was wrecked and Jesus Christ he just called me sir, and Dean pulled his dick out in appreciation, tugging lightly. “Right now I’d prefer more than your mouth.”  
Dean squeezed the head of his cock lightly, stroking up and down a few times to calm him down.  
“You wanna fuck me, Cas?” he said lowly. “You want me bent over and begging for you?”  
“No,” Cas said, “I want you on your back.”  
Dean could recognise a power shift when he saw it, and he felt a strange noise tear from his throat, something inherently submissive that might have been a whimper except for the fact that Dean Winchester does not whimper.  
“I want to tongue you open, Dean. Then use my fingers. How many do you think you could take? You’d need at least three to prepare for me, for my cock.” Cas confided, sounding almost speculative.  
“I’d push in slowly, Dean, have you gasping for it. You’d be so tight, wouldn’t you?”  
“Yeah, Cas.”  
“May I touch myself now, Captain?” he asked, sounding almost mocking. Dean just groaned, unable to speak over the feel of his own hand, rubbing faster over his cock, twisting at the tip, smearing precum over himself.  
“I might not let you come, might just fuck you until I’m finished, leave you there with my come in your ass and your cock still begging for attention. Would you like that, Dean?”  
“Cas.”  
“Or I could suck you, put my fingers back in you, use my come as lube,” Cas’ voice was getting shaky, breaking every now and then, his sentences broken by groans.  
“God, Dean, I’m not going to la-” his sentence was broken off, ending in a long moan. Dean groaned as well, his orgasm spilling out of him and coating his hand, making him shudder in on himself and almost knock over the bottle of whiskey he had bought out.  
There was a silence as Cas cleaned himself up, and Dean scowled at his hand, bending over to wipe it on the grass before tucking himself away.  
“Better?” Dean asked with a smile.  
“Much.” Cas replied. 

xXx

Sunglasses slowly slid down the bridge of his nose. Dean let them, waiting until he was absolutely sure he had the attention of at least one other human before reaching up to slowly tug them off, casting his eyes left and then right, pausing to look up into the mirror.  
“Are you, talking to me?” He asked his reflection  
“Dean, come on.” Sam urged from the passenger’s side, putting a few last minute changes on the form they had printed that would allow them to request the documents they needed.  
“I’m just getting into character,” Dean replied, stepping out of the car slowly, looking across the street and then stretching his shoulders.  
Sam clambered out of the other side of the car, looking around, glancing into the police station where a dozen or so people in blue uniforms were scattered.  
Dean held the door open for Sam and they sauntered up to the desk, walking in a kind of formation that wasn’t planned but still looked awesome.  
“Hi, I’m Agent Plant, this is my partner Agent Page, we were wondering if we could get some files off you regarding the Jonathan case?” Dean asked smoothly, pulling his badge from the inner pocket of his jacket, flashing it in time with Sam and then putting it away.  
“What do the feds want with an arson?” The cop behind the desk asked, taking their paperwork and giving it a cursory glance, already typing something into the computer and calling over a receptionist.  
“We think it might be linked to something bigger in the area,” Sam supplied, looking bored. “We just need to give it a look to make sure.”  
“Well I was the reporting officer on the case, if you wanted to ask any questions?” The guy replied, looking hopeful.  
“Any suspects in the area?” Dean asked immediately,  
“Three, so far. All kids. Folks around here aren’t too happy about it.”  
“Any links to past cases?” Sam asked  
“There was something similar to this a few years back, but it’s too vague to be considered anything other than coincidence.” The guy shrugged  
“Could we take a look at that file too, please?” Sam asked  
“Sure, I’ll get that for you.” He stood and exited the room, leaving Sam and Dean alone at the counter.  
“So this is going well,” Dean commented. “Better than planned. Maybe we should do this more often.”  
“What? Solve crimes?” Sam asked, the unsaid impersonate federal agents? Tacking itself onto the end of the sentence.  
“Yeah, sure, why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” Dean grinned at his younger brother, who snorted derisively.  
“I don’t think this kind of work pays well, Dean.”  
“That’s why I’ve re-set up what Dad taught us.” Dean confided, and Sam’s mouth dropped open.  
“Dean!” he said, scandalised. “Did you seriously just mention the fact you have started using credit card scams,” he looked around incredulously. “again.” He added emphatically. “in a police station?”  
“It does appear that way, yes.” Dean agreed.  
Their conversation was broken when the same guy appeared, holding two files.  
“These are the copies, you guys are welcome to them. Good luck on the case, let me know if I can help you with anything else.”  
“Thank you,” Sam said, taking the files. “You’ve been a great help.”  
Dean nodded at him, and they walked out of the station together.  
“Holy shit we just got away with that,” Sam said when they were back in the car.  
“We are literally invincible right now.” Dean said. “Let’s go to the casino.”  
“Dean,” Sam chastised.  
“Hey, I was joking!” Dean said, starting the car and grinning to himself when the music started, singing along.  
“It was the heat of the moment,” he told Sam, moving his shoulders along.  
“Asia, seriously, dude?”  
“Heat of the moment,” Dean sung, ignoring Sam, pulling out onto the main street and beginning the drive back to Bobby’s.  
It was perhaps forty minutes into the drive that Dean’s phone started ringing.  
Sam picked it up, looked at the caller I.D. and promptly dropped the phone.  
“Cas?!” He asked Dean. “You’re getting a phone call from Officer Castiel who is saved in your phone as Cas!?”  
“Cool it, Sammy. So I made a friend.”  
“A friend.” Sam repeated, looking unconvinced.  
“We bonded, Sam.” Dean said defensively. “We formed a profound bond, ok.”  
There was a long silence after this, mostly involving Sam staring evenly at Dean until eventually speaking:  
“You slept with him, didn’t you.”  
“Dude!”  
“It’s just a question, Dean! I mean, I saw you giving him pretty intense bedroom eyes when our house burned down.”  
Dean frowned across at his brother. He wouldn’t feel right lying to him, giving him an outright ‘no’. But he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready to come out yet, gay, gay, gay,  
“And I already know that you bat for both teams, by the way.” Sam added, shuffling in his seat.  
Caught between saying ‘what?’ and ‘no I don’t’ and ‘how’, Dean made a confused noise.  
“When you were seventeen, your first male experiment, Benny. He came over when you were out once, ended up talking to me for a while, answered some questions that you were too chicken to.”  
“What questions?” Dean asked, his voice weirdly high pitched, his mind going along the mantra of I am going to murder Benny. I am going to find Benny and I am going to murder him.  
“If you two were dating, if it was alright for two guys to date, why you hadn’t told me, you know.” Sam shrugged. “The usual stuff I was confused about.”  
“You were confused about.” Dean repeated, his brain a kind of loud, white noise centred around the fact that he was discussing his homosexuality with his little brother who, apparently, already knew.  
Sam chuckled. “Poor dad, right? No grandchildren for John Winchester.”  
“Ah, you can still make him proud, Sammy.” Dean said, clearing his throat.  
“Not unless I adopt,” Sam muttered, and Dean finally clicked, turning to his little brother.  
“You too?”  
“My college psychologist reckons it’s because I’m more comfortable sharing relationships with men ‘cause I was bought up with just you and dad.”  
“Huh,” Dean breathed. “The Winchesters. Gay.”  
“For police officers,” Sam added, looking a little confused as well.  
“Police officers?” Dean asked dumbly, and Sam gave him a _‘seriously?’_ expression.  
“Come on, Dean.” He said, sounding almost exasperated. “You honestly think I spent all that time with Gabe because we were just friends?”  
“ _Gabe?”_  
“Cas.” Sam shot back  
“But _Gabe._ ”  
“But Officer Castiel,” Sam responded quickly.  
“Jesus,” Dean huffed out the word. “He’s like a freaking midget how do you two even- no wait, don’t answer that.”  
Sam laughed then, a genuine, throw-your-head-back laugh, and suddenly the air cleared and things were fine, more than fine, because Dean was with his little brother and there were no damn secrets and everything was fine.  
“Wait, you bought Cas back to the house.” Sam said, his expression becoming serious. “Please don’t tell me you did-”  
“Right on the couch, Samantha.” Dean nodded ruefully. “And in the kitchen.”  
Sam groaned, swatting the back of Dean’s head and making him laugh again.  
“S’pose I can’t be too mad, otherwise I’d be a hypocrite.” Sam shot back.  
“No, Sam! Not on the couch.” Dean groaned and then they were both hitting each other.  
“We’ve been together a year, Dean! There’s not many places in that house we haven’t-”  
“Samuel Winchester!” Dean cut him off, but Sam was off, laughing to himself, a laugh that carried them both back down the highway and into Bobby’s yard.  
“So, did you get the file?” Bobby asked.  
“Damn straight,” Dean said. Sam looked over at him, raised his eyebrows, and then burst out laughing again.  
xXx


	8. Chapter Eight

The floor of strip clubs, Castiel mused, were not pleasant at all.   
His shoes stuck to various parts of the floor as he made his way across it, spotting his informant and trying to make his way subtly over to her, but finding himself distracted again and again by how damn _sticky_ the floor was.   
What kind of conglomeration of liquids had formed this glue?   
It felt like a physical warning, pulling Cas back, keeping him rooted to the spot so he couldn’t do exactly what he was doing now:   
Sitting down for lunch with a stripper.   
“Luke Pellegrino.” She said by way of greeting.   
“He’s my guy?” Cas asked, wishing it were otherwise.   
“He’s your guy,” she replied with a toothy smile. “He’s my boss.” She added, wistfully.   
Ruby Cortese, stripper, hireling of Luke Pellegrino, ex-informant to the police, and one of the smartest girls to ever decide upon exotic dancing that Castiel had ever met. Also a potential assassin, drug dealer and thief, up for arrest maybe five times in the past six months.   
Meeting her was one of those other things that could land him in a lot of trouble, one of those other things he was doing for Dean.   
_“Why?”_ he had asked, and Castiel’s honest-to-God answer was this:  
I don’t know.   
But I’m doing it.   
“And you say Luke is the one who hired this… what was his name?” Cas asked, accepting a beer from a topless waitress and smiling awkwardly, trying to keep his eyes on face-level.   
“We don’t know his name – we call him Yellow Eyes, but I’d say they’re more hazel. Sounds cooler if it’s ‘Yellow Eyes’, though, I suppose.” Ruby mused, stretching her shoulders in her red leather jacket.   
“So Luke hired Yellow Eyes to steal some kids?” Cas asked incredulously.   
Ruby had come to him after Cas had been searching for more answers to do with Sam’s nursery fire, and Sebastian’s subsequent one.   
‘I’ve got information for you,’ she had said with a teasing lilt in her tone.   
“It was going to be his new generation of crime. He told Yellow Eyes – find me kids. I want twenty or so kids, and I want you to raise them to be obedient. They’re going to be the new generation of thieving, murdering, power-playing scum like us.” Ruby paused to sip her drink. “Well, that’s a paraphrase, but you get the gist.”   
“So a generation of kids, trained to be criminals, working for Luke Pellegrino. How long ago did he order this?”   
“Twenty years, I told you, way before my time.” Ruby said, flicking her curtain of dark hair. “Only thing is, Luke expected him to get orphans, you know? Kids off the street, who people wouldn’t notice were gone. Only Yellow Eyes didn’t do that.” She leant in, like she was confiding a secret.  
Cas was overtly aware that they were in a _strip club_ , but he humoured her, leant in as well. Noted a stray piece of tape on the swell of her breast.   
So, she was wired then. He wondered who was on the other end.   
“He handpicked ‘em.” She said, grinning. “Yellow Eyes did his research, found twenty kids all over America who he thought would be best at this stuff. You know, the kids of marines and attractive people, the kids of lawyers and mathematicians. Made sure he got prime stock.” She winked.   
“Like Sam, and Sebastian.” Cas recalled, thinking about John Winchester’s military expertise, Jim Lyon’s Stanford education.   
“That’s right. Then he went and got them, made sure the families were killed and took the kids. Left the father alive in each home, though, as a test. You see, he wanted to raise these kids, and then when they got old enough, send them to kill their own daddy’s. To prove that they were loyal to him and Luke, and to get some blood under their belt.”   
“That’s sick.” Cas said, to which Ruby shrugged.   
“That’s life. Anyway, when Luke found out what he had done, he got mad.” She shuddered for dramatic effect. “He doesn’t like anything that will put him too overtly on the map, and this guy had just gone out and _mass murdered_ like twenty families, or so it seemed because the press didn’t know that he was taking the kids, right?”   
“So what happened next?” Cas prompted, and Ruby gave him a secret kind of smile, drinking some more of her beer before continuing.   
“Luke told Yellow Eyes he was dead. Yellow Eyes retreated, and took all his kids with him. Went right off the map. We didn’t hear from him for years, until Sebastian.”   
“Until Sebastian killed Jim?” Cas prompted  
“We had informants in the area, they saw that kid set Jim’s house on fire. We knew then that the kids were grown up, that they’d started the first test: to kill their fathers.”   
“So what did Luke do?” Cas asked  
“He tried to draw out Yellow Eyes by using his own weakness against him,” Ruby nodded. “The kids.”   
“The kids?”   
“He has a kind of connection with them, apparently. Thinks he’s like their real dad. Luke found this out because he caught one of Yellow Eye’s kids, a little runt named Gregory. He told us a lot.” She grinned to herself. “He told us that there were two kids that Yellow Eyes didn’t get: Abby Driscoll, and Sam Winchester. Apparently he always saw them as his own kids anyway, always wanted to get them back.”   
“So why did he try to kill Sam?” Cas asked, confused.   
“He didn’t.” Ruby looked almost proud of herself. “That was Luke.”   
“Wait, why did Luke try to kill Sam?” Cas asked, frowning.   
“To draw out Yellow Eyes. As soon as he realised that one of his kids were in danger, he started freaking out. Sent two kids over to look out for Sam, they were the ones who distracted him that night so Sam didn’t get to his car before his secretary. That was when Dean Winchester got on the radar, by the way.”  
Cas’ gut clenched at the mention of Dean. He had hoped that maybe he had passed under the radar, unseen by the likes of Ruby or Luke Pellegrino.   
“They realised Dean was like a god damn protector machine when it came to Sam, so Luke sent the order to take him out first. Had a kid go over to his place and set the house alight while he was sleeping, make Dean think that it was Sebastian and Yellow Eyes, if he knew that much, and if he didn’t know that much then… hopefully he would have burned in the fire.”   
“But he didn’t,” Cas said, mostly to himself.   
“And now him and Sam have gone off the map, so Luke lost his way of getting Yellow Eyes in the open.” She sighed. “That is, until he found out that the police were holding Sebastian in custody.”   
“Should I ask _how_ he found that out?”   
“Hell if I know. Luke’s an ex-cop, he has his ways.” She nodded, and Cas sighed.   
All he knew about Luke Pellegrino was that: he was an ex-cop. He dropped from the force, went into crime, was in charge of most of the criminals in this half of America.   
“If we capture and imprison Yellow Eyes, will these attacks on Sam and Dean Winchester stop?” Cas asked  
“Oh no, the boss wants more than the big house for Yellow Eyes. You’d have to kill him, or hand him over to Luke himself.” Ruby said, raising her eyebrows.   
Killing a guy, well that’s where Cas drew the line on the list of _Things I Would Do For Dean._   
“Thanks for the information, Ruby.” Cas said, pulling out a yellow envelope and sliding it across the counter.   
“Any time, Jimmy.” She smiled, using his pseudonym, tucking the envelope into her jacket and then standing and walking away, leaving the restaurant area in sure strides that didn’t seem to be hampered by the stickiness of the floor at all.   
Cas sighed, sat back in his seat, took another swig of beer.   
If there was one person on earth that hated Luke Pellegrino more than Cas did in that moment, it was his boss. Police Chief Michael Adams.   
There were two things Castiel knew in that moment.   
1) He had to talk with Luke Pellegrino.   
2) He was _so screwed._  
He drank the rest of his beer and stood up to leave, feet catching against the congealed mess on the floor.   
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, hitting Dean’s speed dial and waiting for him to answer the phone.   
“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted  
“Hello Dean,” Cas replied, feeling a smile on his features and schooling it into obedience, walking down the street and away from the strip joint.   
“Sorry I missed your call earlier today, I was in the car with Sam.”   
“Family road trip?” Cas asked  
“Something like that.” Dean had his _I’ve Done Something You Won’t Like_ voice on.   
“Should I ask?”   
“I’d prefer if I didn’t have to explain this to you, no.” Dean replied, and there was the noise of a mouth against a bottle, Dean obviously deciding to drink early, then. Cas checked his watch, realised it was later than he thought.   
“Just don’t get arrested, alright?” Cas muttered, spotting his car and pulling himself inside. “I have some information to you, I don’t want to use this line though.”   
“Smart move.” A voice from the back of his car made Castiel jump so violently he almost hit his head on the roof. His gun was out of its holster and pointing towards the man in the backseat so quickly that his brain had to take a moment to catch up with the action.   
“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Cassie.” Luke Pellegrino was spread out on his backseat like he belonged there.   
Which he did, considering it was the back of a cop car and Luke was so beyond needing to be arrested.   
“Cas? Cas are you ok? Cas?” Dean’s voice was shouting at him from where he had dropped the phone. He quietly put his gun back in the holster and picked it up.   
“I’m going to need to call you back, Dean.” Cas said quietly.   
“Is everything ok? Cas, talk to me.”   
“Everything is peachy, just another exciting night in this funky town.” Cas said empathetically.   
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Dean spoke again.   
“Right, sounds like fun. Talk to you later then, hot stuff.”   
The phone immediately disconnected and Luke smiled at him warmly.   
“How about you drive me somewhere nice, and then we can have a nice talk.” He suggested.   
“Anywhere in particular?” Cas asked, feeling his heart hammering in his ears, hoping Dean had picked up on the usage of their emergency word – it was meant to be for Dean’s sake, god damn it.  
“How about you just follow that car there?” Luke suggested, laying down in the backseat and propping his feet up, gesturing weakly to a black car with tinted windows that was pulling out of the car park.   
Cas swallowed, nodded, and turned the key in the ignition. 

xXx

An abandoned train station.   
Was there a more desolate, manly, terrifying place to be driven to?   
Cas looked at where the brake lights of the car in front of him were flaring, noting the railway tracks and the crumbling sign that was missing most words, so it just said ‘STA-IO-‘  
Cutting the motor and pulling his keys into his hands, Cas felt like now was the time to make peace with the idea that he was possibly about to be dead.   
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered against the steering wheel, prompting laughter from the backseat where Luke was sitting up.   
“ Ah, don’t be scared, Castiel. We just want to have a little chat, is all.”   
Cas nodded to himself, feeling his chest tighten when the back door of the car opened in front of him, and two men got out, both restraining a struggling Ruby, who had blood smeared from her lip to her chin.   
“Was ‘having a chat’ a euphemism for whatever happened to Ruby?” Cas asked, prompting another laugh.   
“I like you, Castiel. Now let’s get moving, shall we?” Luke said, sitting up and opening the car door. Cas quickly scrambled out of the seat, stepping into the coolness of the night and looking around, spotting no real landmarks aside from the ones that comprised the railway station. He couldn’t even really remember which way he had driven in, there were so many twists and turns and sudden cross country treks.   
Inside the railway station was actually kind of pleasant, there were couches drawn up all around the room, a desk at one end, a fire pit in the middle of the room. Five or so people were scattered throughout, a teenager tending the fire, an older man going over notes at the desk, two women sitting on the sofa and reading – what looked like – _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows._  
Ruby was sitting at a chair primly, both hands in her lap. Behind her were the two thugs who had dragged her out of the car, and they stood calmly as well, as though they were offering protection to her, rather than a threat.   
Luke was the last to enter, he sauntered in calmly and took a couch on the edge of the room, as though he were no big deal. Everyone was turned towards him though, silence filling the space like poisonous gas until it felt like Cas was going to choke if someone didn’t speak soon.   
“Everyone,” Luke said slowly, smiling lazily. “Say hello to the nice officer.”   
There were a few nods, a few grunts of ‘hello’.   
“Please, Castiel. Take a seat.” Luke offered, and Cas looked around the room as though expecting a test.   
There were three chairs left, a wooden seat next to Luke, a couch on the other side of the room, and a one person settee right next to the fire, facing Luke.   
Cas took the latter.   
“Now,” Luke said, smiling at Ruby. “We just wanted to have a conversation about a few things we picked up from what Ruby said.”   
Cas swallowed and nodded.   
“We noticed that you have a weak spot, Castiel.” Luke said, tutting at him like Cas was a child who had done something naughty.   
“Those Winchesters of yours, you seem to _care_ quite a bit.” He shook his head then, as if clearing it. “So tell me, which one are you sleeping with?”   
Cas raised his eyebrows, wondered how much pride he had left, forced the single syllable of Dean on his tongue to be swallowed back down.   
“It doesn’t matter anyway. What it means is this: I have leverage against you, and you have something I want.” Luke spelled out clearly, sitting up straighter to face Cas on eye level.   
“Could you clarify what those things are?” Cas asked, and Ruby gave a muffled noise of protest from behind him which was quickly silenced.   
Luke just shrugged. “You have Sam Winchester, and Sebastian Lyon. I want one of them.”   
“I can’t give you-”  
“And in return, I will not viciously maim Sam’s brother and your lover, Dean Winchester.” Luke grinned at him, like he had just suggested they exchange phone numbers rather than human beings.  
Cas felt a stab of panic, knowing that he had unintentionally lead Dean straight into a trap. And Luke knew.   
_Luke Pellegrino knew he was sleeping with Dean Winchester._ And Dean Winchester was not safe, he had to hide him, had to use the other code word that meant ‘go underground because shit has hit the fan.’ Something stopped him there, because he remembered he had already used a damn codeword.   
Funky town.   
The code word, the GPS on his mobile phone.  
 _Hot stuff._   
Dean was coming _here._   
“You’re going to hurt… Sam or Sebastian in order to draw out this… Yellow Eyes, right?” Cas said, thinking quickly, words blurring through his mind.   
“That is correct.” Luke nodded  
“What if we were to capture him for you?” Cas asked, which made Luke laugh.   
“The police force? Forgive me, but I don’t think you guys are really all that cut out for it.”   
“Not the police force,” Cas said quickly, he was improvising, trying to say whatever he could to make Luke agree just _don’t hurt Dean._ “The Winchesters and me. Sam, Dean and I. We could… find him and apprehend him.”   
Luke was considering him now, frowning.   
“You going vigilante, Castiel?” he asked, a little smirk on his mouth. “That’s the first step I took as well. Trying to solve crimes in unconventional ways.”   
Cas swallowed noisily, remembering all the things he had drilled into him, how his father had been training him to be a cop since he was old enough to run an obstacle course. Loyal to the force was more important than loyal to the family.   
And then what?   
And then Dean Winchester.   
God, he didn’t even have to consider, did he?   
“We can use Sam as bait ourselves, and keep him protected with Dean. We’ll find Yellow Eyes, get in contact with him, then…” every part of Castiel’s brain was protesting, aside from the part that seemed to be in charge of repeating the mantra Dean is coming here and they want to hurt Dean, who is coming here, because you lead him here, you told Dean to come here and they want to hurt him.   
“Then…?” Luke prompted  
“Then we’ll hand him over to you and you can do the rest.” Cas said  
Luke considered this, frowning, tapping his chin.   
“How about I make you a deal?” He asked, a different kind of smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Ruby made another noise at that, a kind of muffled swear word. This time Cas heard the impact of knuckles on flesh before there was silence from her side of the room.   
“The deal is this,” Luke leant forward, spreading his hands on his knees. “You, Sam and Dean have one week in which to find Yellow Eyes, and kill him. When you have done this, you call me, and I will come and make sure he is dead.”   
Cas swallowed. Kill a man. That’s what Luke was asking him. Luke seemed to sense his discomfort and grinned wider.   
“It’s how I started, have you heard the tale? First I went vigilante, then I started killing, and then I got into the organised side of it.” He shrugged. “I like the idea of someone following in my footsteps.”  
“I won’t-”  
“You haven’t heard the end of the deal, yet.” Luke admonished. “So you and the Winchesters kill Yellow Eyes for me in a week, and if you don’t do that, I will take Sam Winchester,” he demonstrated by extending his hands and miming picking up a child. “I will kill Dean Winchester,” his eyes flicked to where the teenager was tending to the fire. “And then I will kill you as well.” He finished, spreading his hands again.   
Cas couldn’t decide.   
He _wouldn’t_ decide.   
What was Luke asking? Kill a man for the Winchesters, or die for the Winchesters.   
Either his blood was thrumming louder in his veins, or the hum of the Impala was in the distance.   
“Deal.” Cas said quietly, and Luke tilted his head and smiled, wetting his lips quickly in a snake like movement, standing slowly and pacing over to where Castiel was.   
Cas stood as well, almost level with him, breathing carefully through his nose and trying to remind himself not to panic.   
“Deal then, Castiel. I’ll be hearing from you in a week.” He extended his hand and Cas took it quickly, shaking firmly.   
The rumble was definitely a palpable thing now, the car approaching, but no one seemed to phased by it.   
“That will be your ride,” Luke said, winking quickly. “Enjoy your night out with the Winchesters in this…” he paused, sitting back down on the couch heavily. “Funky town.”   
Cas cleared his throat, hiding his face, feeling a blush spreading as he walked out the doors quickly and towards the black car that was converging on the scene.   
“Cas,” Dean said, and god it was so good to see him again, he felt like grabbing him and kissing him and making sure he was all ok and touching every part of him individually because Jesus Christ. This was all too much emotion, so Cas just gripped the door and nodded.   
“Fine, I’m fine. We need to talk. Follow my car.” Cas said in one breath, looking over at the empty passenger’s seat.   
“Sam’s fine,” Dean said, catching his gaze. “Let’s go, then.”   
Cas nodded twice, and then without his brain’s express permission, his body folded itself carefully into the car, his hands gripping either side of Dean’s face and kissing him quickly, surely, as if making sure he was real.   
Dean moved against him, kissing back just as fiercely, and Cas imagined that Dean might have been worried about him.   
They separated and Cas held his gaze, nodding once before heading to his car, sliding in and checking the backseat before driving away. In the headlights of his car, Luke sat on the porch.   
He held up his hand to his face, two fingers extended, mouthing the words _‘call me’._  
Cas felt in his pocket and realised that Luke must have slipped in the piece of paper with his number on it.   
He put it back in his pocket, wishing he didn’t have to let down the force, wishing that everything wouldn’t change after this had been done.   
But of course it would.   
He thought of all the people at the station, all his friends. He thought of Uriel, and Gabriel, and Anna, he thought of Alfie, the younger guy who was working at the fire station but had dreams of joining the force, he thought of Sebastian Lyon, and he thought of Luke Pellegrino, he thought of Ruby Cortese, of Michael Adams, of his mum, and his dad.   
He wondered when Dean Winchester suddenly became more important than that list.   
He wondered if he was more important than _anyone at all_ in Dean’s life.   
“What have you gotten yourself in to?” He asked himself as he drove over the dips in the road that would lead him back to town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I know it's kind of quick for Cas to be throwing his shit in for Dean but I just... JUST LET ME DO THIS OK SHHHHH


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sexy sexual sex times and some curse words.

Dean took a deep breath in, part of him shouting _WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS,_ part of him shouting _CAS IS IN DANGER,_ but a bigger part of him was staring at Sam, eyes narrowed, fist in front of him. 

“We shouldn’t have to do this, Sammy.” Dean told him, tightening his fist. 

“So let me come,” Sam shot back, his fist tensing slightly. 

“I can’t.” Dean replied. “You could get hurt.” 

“Then we have reached an impasse,” Sam summarized, rolling his shoulders. “And now we have to do this.” 

“Fine,” Dean shouted in one, brief exhalation. 

They stared at each other a few more moments before speaking in unison. 

_“Rock, paper, scissors!”_

“Oh Sam, oh Sammy, did you think I would keep with scissors? Did you honestly think?” Dean mocked, wrapping his paper hand around Sam’s rock fist. 

“And now I’m going,” he said, pushing past his brother to get to the impala. “To save the stupid son of a bitch that I am outrageously gay for.” 

“Atta girl, Dean.” Sam called from the porch, folding his arms. 

“You be good!” Dean shouted back, pulling out of the driveway in a swirl of dust and hitting the accelerator to the floor. 

He sent a quick ‘sorry’, to his baby, promising to give her a good bath when they got back to Bobby’s. 

After he had saved Cas. 

God, his voice had sounded so damn scared on the phone, the murmured code word pushing Dean to movement faster than any electric shock could. 

“C’mon Cas, just be ok.” He said to the uncaring night, pushing the accelerator just a little harder. 

One hour, forty minutes, a confusing conversation, one hell of a kiss, a short trip to the motel and the last of his tank of gas later, Dean was sitting in the familiar motel room, mouth open, brain threatening to burst under the weight of new information. 

“Yellow Eyes? We gotta find a guy called _Yellow Eyes_ in under a week, gank him, and then call up a freaking mob boss and that is the only way to save Sammy?” 

“That is the general gist of the situation, yes.” Castiel coughed slightly, peeling off his jacket and pressing it to the couch. 

Cas looked wasted. Like someone had deflated him. And God it was so good to see him again, only a week without him and suddenly he was like a friggen Castiel junkie, and to see Cas in this state… 

Dean crossed to him, quelling that angry _gay_ in the back of his head, and pulled him into a hug. 

Cas slumped against him, burying his face into the material of Dean’s shirt, his hands loosely connecting at the small of his back. Dean pressed hands into his shoulders, drawing him closer, feeling the lines of muscle and bone and feeling a kind of weight lift off him that had been pressing down ever since Cas had said _funky town._

The stubble of his jaw was pressing into the soft skin of Dean’s neck, and it made him want to press closer. Made him want to squeeze Cas until they somehow merged into one being, and then Dean could keep him safe. 

“Stay,” Cas mumbled into the skin at Dean’s collarbone. “Just for one night.” 

Excuses flashed into Dean’s mind, remembering that Sam and Bobby were waiting for them, and they had seven days to find and kill a man, but all of that was drowned under the whisper of Dean’s response. 

“Of course,” 

Cas made this relieved kind of mewl noise, pressing his face against Dean’s chest, and Dean smiled despite himself. 

“Come on, cuddly. Let’s get you showered.” He suggested, helping him to step out of his shoes and then his pants, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it all off, until Cas was standing there, all naked skin and covered muscle. Cas tugged at the sleeve of Dean’s shirt and Dean complied weakly, letting Cas peel off his clothes, until they were both chilled skin and chaste touches, Dean leading Cas to the shower and turning on the taps, making sure the head was spluttering slightly warm water until he pulled Cas under the stream with him. 

There was nothing that could have prepared him for the warm, slick feeling of Cas’ wet skin against his. 

“Holy mother of-”

Dean’s expletive was cut off when Cas, apparently feeling the same shocked arousal, bit the side of Dean’s throat and then began sucking the skin, softly marking him with little strokes of his tongue. 

“Cas,” Dean shuddered into him, pressing his slowly hardening cock into the soft skin at the juncture of his pelvis and thigh. Cas made this distressed kind of sound and pressed upwards, mouth covering Dean’s with barely concealed urgency, tongue flicking against the seam of his lips and then delving inside the cavern of his mouth with a relieved groan. 

Dean sucked on Cas’ tongue with slow drags, feeling Cas push against him in time with the pulses from his mouth. 

Cas’ hands were at his hips, pressing deliciously tightly, the bite of his fingernails spurring Dean’s arousal on. When Dean released Cas’ tongue, his hands released as well, exploring over the planes of his chest and then over his shoulders, tracing down his pecs and over his abdomen, ignoring his now fully hard cock in favor of brushing around his waist to the globes of his ass. 

_“Cas,”_ Dean urged, pressing back into his hands and nodding against his head, hoping it was enough that Cas would understand. He didn’t want to say let’s fuck, all blasé causality. But he couldn’t bring himself to say _‘make love’_ , or even _‘sodomize me.’_

Thank God for Cas, though, because he was humming along Dean’s skin and leaning towards his ear to whisper: 

“I have lube and condoms in my bag.” 

“So what are we standing around here for, then?” Dean asked, smiling when Cas’ lips reconnected with his. 

They stepped out of the shower together, drying each other with passes from the scratchy motel towels, Cas paying particular attention to the area around his crotch and then mussing his hair into dryness. 

They were laughing together like children by the time they backed into the room, all newly-clean skin and giggles. They were kissing at intervals, 

Dean climbed onto the bed, kiss. 

Cas walked over to his bag and got the lube and condoms, kiss. 

Cas got onto the bed, kiss. 

Cas laid him out on the bed, head against the pillows, knees bent and feet flat against the covers. He covered Dean like a blanket, smiling as he draped himself against his chest, kissing him languidly. 

His hand trailed over Dean’s cock, teasing lightly before he sat back, making space for himself between Dean’s spread legs. 

“Dean,” Cas whispered, his eyes half-mast, his grin dopey. 

“Cas,” Dean replied, nudging his shoulder with his raised knee. Cas smiled and took the lube from where he had left it, twisting the cap and liberally coating his fingers, stroking them across the pucker of Dean’s ass in slow circles. 

Dean pressed down onto those fingers, letting out a little gasp when the first one breached him, pressing in deliciously slowly. 

“Cas,” Dean sighed, bucking in pleasure when Cas added another finger. 

“Dean,” he replied, his voice only a slight waver from stoic. 

Three fingers were soon pumping into him, causing him to writhe on the bed, try and gasp out something between _‘fuck me’_ and _‘make love to me’_ and _‘just get your dick in me’_ , that somehow manifested in a shallow gasp of:

_“Cas,”_

Cas rose onto his knees, planting hands on either side of Dean’s face and moving in to kiss him, fucking into his mouth with his tongue in dirty thrusts that made Dean’s cock ache. 

Then a hand was positioning itself at Dean’s entrance, and then the blunt head of a cock, and then there was a roll of movement, a tense, a sigh, and Cas was inside him. 

“Dean.” Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean thrusted down towards him, impaling himself further on Cas’ cock. 

Cas groaned, “So fucking tight,” he whispered, shifting his hips so the head of his cock rubbed against Dean’s prostate, and then Dean was groaning and pushing down desperately, and neither of them were going to last so Cas just pulled out, and pushed back in again. 

“Yes,” the word ended on a hiss that was drawn out when Cas repeated the movement, pulling out and then slamming back home. 

Dean thought that all of the people he had been with like this, none of them were as… 

He tried to put a word to it, remembering the hot Afghanistan nights, thinking of his bunk mates. But Cas was above him, obliterating all thought with the push-pull of his hips, the delicious friction, that feeling building in his gut despite the fact his cock was still untouched. 

Afghanistan had been a home to him, something somewhat comforting because he knew where he stood, he knew what he was doing. Back in America things were jumbled, they had to kill someone to save someone. 

Cas gripped Dean’s bicep as he started a brutal rhythm, hips pressing harder and harder into the soft flesh of his thighs, and Dean couldn’t stop the sounds from spilling from his lips. 

Cas gripped his spare hand around Dean’s cock, pumping slowly. 

“Cas,” He grunted, thrusting upwards into his fist, propelling downwards onto his cock. 

“Dean,” Cas agreed. 

Dean contained all the things he wanted to really say, _thank you for helping me,_ “Cas,” _thank you for saving me,_ “Cas,” _please don’t leave,_ “Ca- _as_ ,” _I don’t know what I was before you,_ “Cas!” 

Cas came with a drawn out groan, warmth disappearing from inside him and making him ache. 

It was immediately replaced with three fingers, spearing into his prostate with deadly precision. Then Cas’ mouth was on him, hovering over his cock and then sucking deep into his mouth, the tip hitting the back of his throat, tongue laving over the head. 

When he started sucking, really sucking, Dean let out a broken sob and came in pulses, feeling Cas still swallowing around him. 

When it was over there was the touch of a damp cloth at his thighs, and Dean chuckled with the thought that Cas was looking after him. 

He pressed the cloth against his ass, then his cock, and then across his pelvis. There was some more movement, but Dean was happy to lay on his back forever. 

When Cas joined him, Dean decided he would make good on that promise. The rest of the world could go on quite happily without them, and they would lay here forever.

Cas had pillowed his head against Dean’s shoulder, and he tugged him closer until his ear was resting above Dean’s ragged heart beat, their legs entwined, fingers stilled, eyelids drooping. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” Cas offered, and Dean leaned down to press a light kiss to his forehead, then both his eyelids, and then his lips, and he sucked the plump lower one between his teeth to nip it carefully. 

“Goodnight Cas.” He whispered back, pulling the sheet up and over their bodies, wishing for Groundhog day… or groundhog night… or whatever kind of voodoo magic that might keep him in this moment forever. 

He was woken, predictably, by the ringtone that told him Sam was calling. He fumbled across the bed, located his phone, pressed some buttons until Sam’s voice was shouting out of the tiny speaker.

“’Lo?” Dean managed

“Dean! Where the hell are you? Me and Bobby were worried sick.” 

“Bobby and I,” Dean corrected, rolling over in bed and noting a distinct absence of sexy police officer. He frowned, sitting up, spotting a note on the counter beside him.

_I had to go into the station, give me a text when you wake up. x_

“Whatever, dude. So you’re alive then?” Sam said

“Apparently.” Dean replied, standing up and wincing immediately at the burn in his ass. God, that was going to be fun. “I have a lot of shit to tell you though. I’ll be home in two hours.” 

“Fine.” Sam said, hanging up. 

Dean stared at his phone, looked back at the note, and then sighed. 

“Back to reality, then.” He muttered, locating his pants. 

When he was semi dressed he sent a text to Cas, notifying him that he was going back to Fort Winchester to get Team Nerd to start researching this Yellow Eyes. 

He smiled to himself as he jogged out to the Impala, dropping into the seat and starting her up with a satisfying rumble, not loud enough to drown out the ringtone of his phone. 

He frowned, looking at Cas’ caller I.D. and pressing the answer button.

“Cas?” 

“Credit card scams, Dean? Really?” His voice sounded more exasperated than anything. “Can you just… tell me that you don’t use _credit card scams.”_

“They’re usually untraceable.” Dean muttered, feeling a blush on his features as he pulled onto the main road and opened up the accelerator. 

“ _’They’re usually untraceable’_ he offers as defence, as he talks on his mobile phone whilst driving,” Cas sighed into the phone, and Dean tried, he really tried not to laugh. “You seriously just said that to me, didn’t you? They’re usually untraceable.” 

“Well, they are.” Dean grumbled. 

“We’re on high alert at the moment, Dean! I’ve just been given a warrant for your arrest.” 

“Because of a credit card scam?” Dean asked incredulously

“Yes, Dean! I’m not sure if you knew this, but credit card scams are _illegal._ ” Cas’ voice was definitely angry now.

“Yeah… it’s just… you know. I thought the police department had bigger things to concentrate on.” Dean offered, upping the acceleration a little bit more, the word ‘arrest warrant’ hanging over his head in ominous letters. 

“Well, I called you to say that I have officially had to get a new mobile phone to talk to you on, because fraternizing with you will definitely make me lose my job. Furthermore, you can no longer come to town anymore, because there is every chance I might have to arrest you if you do.” 

Dean smirked. “Is that a promise, Officer?” 

“Dean!” 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” 

“Can you take this seriously, please?” Cas almost whined it out, and Dean straightened his expression. 

“Right, ok. I’m sorry, I apologize for using my sleazy credit card scams in your majestic town and inadvertently making myself a fugitive.” 

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Dean could clearly picture Cas’ expression. 

“I’m going to call you tonight when I don’t want to murder you, ok?” 

“I’ll be waiting,” Dean promised, his sentence cut off by Cas hanging up. 

Dean wasn’t worried, truthfully. 

He had kind of come to terms with the fact he was going to be working outside of the law ever since he dedicated himself to protecting Sam from a mass murderer. 

If anything, it felt like a relief to know that he had finally been caught, was finally on the wanted list. 

“For a credit card scam though, man.” Dean shook his head. 

He hoped Cas didn’t find out about the FBI thing…

He already knew he was going to have a murder on his hands, having volunteered himself (in an unsaid kind of way) to be the one to pull the trigger on Yellow Eyes. 

After all, it would come down to Sam – who had never killed anything in his life, Cas – who was a shiny police officer who appeared to have a conscience that couldn’t take that kind of crap, and himself – ex army who had killed people before. 

He was the obvious choice, and he hoped Cas had realized that as soon as Luke offered him the deal. 

It was a little disconcerting, though, the idea of murdering someone. 

Well, someone who had tried to kill him before, and tried to steal his little brother, and who had killed his mother. 

He swallowed the anger that was brewing, watching as the sign passed that notified him he was one third of the way to Bobby’s house. 

He put in a new tape of Zeppelin and wound down his window, taking in a deep breath of air and smiling to himself. 

Things would work themselves out. They would find Yellow Eyes, kill him, and then Sam could go back to his apple pie life with his gay police officer boyfriend, and Dean could… 

He was bought up short. 

What the hell was he going to do when all this was over? It wasn’t like he could just go and live with Sam and hang out with Cas. 

Cas, who was almost getting himself fired for Dean, in a town where he was no longer welcome. 

“God damn it,” Dean said to himself, wishing again that he could just go back to the night before, laying in bed with Castiel. 

“Well I guess we’ll sort it out when it comes to it.” Dean mulled that thought over in his head and then turned up the music, drowning out his own thoughts with the grinding guitar of Black Dog. 

xXx

“He wanted to raise me.” Sam said. 

“Really, Sam? That’s what you get from the whole story I just told you?” Dean asked incredulously, knocking back his third beer of the evening. 

“He wanted… to raise me as his child and then get me to kill dad?” Sam frowned, his eyebrows raised. “And he didn’t get to do that, but he still sees me as his own kid?” 

“Yeah, look, the whole situation is weird, ok?” Dean said, batting away Sam’s comment with a spare hand and turning to Bobby. “We gotta concentrate on finding this Yellow Eyes guy, any idea on how we’re going to do that?” 

“I might have something,” Bobby nodded, heading back over to his desk and pouring himself another whiskey as he flipped open a file. “One of these kids who was apprehended over the fire, back last year.” Bobby held up the file for them to see the picture. 

“Apparently his picture was shown on the news, and this guy called in to the station claiming to be his dad.” Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Next day, the kid is broken out of jail by someone unknown, a week later, the guy who claimed to be his father is dead.” 

“Woah, woah, wait.” Dean held up his beer in protest. “How did you get all that information?” 

Bobby wordlessly held up the cell phone with FBI written on the back. “I did some digging.” 

Dean’s semi-outraged answer was cut off by Sam, 

“So kid lights a fire somewhere, gets caught, his dad recognizes him on TV, Yellow Eyes breaks him out of jail and then they go kill the dad?” 

“That’s the gist.” Bobby nodded. 

“And how will that thrilling saga help us find Yellow Eyes?” Dean asked

“We’ll follow up the case,” Sam said, spreading his hands and smiling widely, like he had just won a triple word score in scrabble, or… something equally nerdy. 

“Follow up the case,” Dean repeated. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, if we look at the case, check out the break in and everything, it should lead us back to Yellow Eyes.” 

“And how long will that take us?” Dean asked, exasperated. “We only have six days now, guys.” 

“Ok, then we do something drastic.” Sam said

“Like what?” Bobby asked, downing his whiskey in one. 

Sam paused, looking at each of them in turn. 

“We use me as bait.” He said

_“Sam!”_

“Like hell we’ll use you a-”

“Guys!” Sam snapped over both Dean and Bobby’s objections. “Luke Pellegrino had the right idea, ok? If it’s the quickest way to get Yellow Eyes in the open, then let’s get Yellow Eyes in the open, ok?” 

“So what exactly are you suggesting, Sammy? We put you back in a town that I am not allowed in, if you remember correctly, light a fire somewhere near you, and hope that your pretend Daddy comes running?” Dean asked

“No, we gotta be smart about this,” Sam said, motioning to Bobby. “We come up with a plan.” 

“I don’t like this.” Dean said grumpily. 

“You don’t have to like it, ok? We get one shot at this. One. If it doesn’t work, we’re both dead anyway.” Sam said, and the silence following that statement rang through the house like a gong.

Eventually Dean stood, unable to take that tension, and went out the back. He found the old Dodge and sat down, pulling out his mobile and thinking _call me Cas, just call me and check on me because I am not ok._

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, because he knew that Sam was right. 

The quickest way to get this done would be to get Sam in the open, let Yellow Eyes come to him. But could they be sure that Yellow Eyes would even be coming? There had to be someone that they could talk to that would know-

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said again, standing up this time, pulling out his phone, because suddenly he knew how they were going to come up with a plan, and how they would make sure it would work. 

He hit the speed dial for Castiel’s number as he jogged up the steps of the house. 

“Dean?” he answered. “Not a hundred percent sure if I’m back from homicidal, yet.” 

“I need to talk to Sebastian.” He said quickly. 

“Hold on, are you ok you sound… wait. Did you just say ‘I need to talk to Sebastian’?” 

“Cas, I need information from him.” Dean said quickly. “And I’m the only one who can get it.” 

“What makes you think I can’t get it?” Cas asked. “Dean, this is crazy.” 

“He won’t talk to you, you’re a cop.” 

“Yeah, I’m a cop. And he’s a criminal which means that he’s being held here, Dean. How are you going to get in…”

Dean was in the lounge room now, facing Sam and Bobby, both of whom were silent. 

Cas was also quiet, his noise building in a crescendo when he did speak. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_.” He said. 

“Cas, trust me.” Dean said, looking at Sam and Bobby and smiling down the phone even though Cas couldn’t see him. 

“What the hell are you planning, boy?” Bobby asked, standing from behind his desk. 

“Easy,” Dean replied. “I’m going to get myself arrested.” 

The silence that followed this was punctuated by a little voice on the phone muttering in his deep, annoyed voice. 

_“Son of a bitch.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bada bing bada boom.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for light bondage and more sexual sexy times with sex and sexiness. Between two men.

Step one of Operation Get Sam Kidnapped went like this: _Get Dean into the holding cells._

“You’re not like a wanted felon, Dean.” Cas had said last night while they were planning, his voice sounding strange on the speaker phone where he was perched in the middle of the table, amongst the paper and clippings and various other implements that made Dean feel like he was in a spy movie. 

“What do you mean?” Dean had replied

“Your warrant is for a credit card scam. The police aren’t going to see you and suddenly shout _‘Stop in the name of the law!’_ and then tackle you to the floor, screaming Miranda rights and handcuffing you.” 

Sam had snorted a laugh, Bobby had hidden a smirk, Dean had growled out: 

“Ok. So I go to the station and turn myself in, no big deal.” 

“That would mean a lot of paperwork, probably they’d need to call in an attorney. It’d put you maybe forty five minutes away from a holding cell and Sebastian, assuming Sebastian is still in a holding cell by then.” 

“What do you mean _by then?_ ” Bobby had asked

Cas had sighed, like he didn’t want to say the next sentence. Eventually, he did. 

“We’re moving Sebastian soon. We haven’t got a precise time, but…”

“Basically the sooner I get in there, the better. Right, Cas. What’s going to land me in a holding cell, stat?” Dean had asked to the disapproving glare of his brother. 

“Uh, drunk and disorderly, aggravated assault-”

“So I’ll do something like that then.” Dean had smiled amidst the three-tone admonishment of _‘Dean’,_ coming from his phone, his brother and his uncle. 

They had fumbled around after that, moving onto other parts of the plan. But step one remained the same. 

_Get Dean into the holding cells._

He breathed out sharply from where he was standing, in an alleyway between two shops. 

When Sam had asked him just what exactly he was going to do to get himself arrested, Dean had grinned conspiratorially. 

He wondered if any three of them would guess _this._

Officer Castiel, decked out in his full police uniform, was holding a coffee. He was standing next to Uriel, both looking very official, both doing God knows what, neither of them expecting what was about to happen where they were stood between their two police cars. 

“Hey!” Dean shouted, finally coming out of his hiding spot. Cas spun immediately, and like a deer caught in the headlights he found himself unable to move. Uriel had no such problem. 

“Winchester! You’re in a bit of trouble, buddy.” Uriel commented. “We got a warrant for your-”

“Do you honestly think I give a fuck?” Dean asked, shrugging and making his way closer, he was now within touching distance of both police officers. 

“Dean!” Castiel’s surprised tone was a genuine reaction, and Dean turned to him expectantly. 

“What, are you gunna arrest me for swearing at a cop?” Dean asked him mockingly. “Coming from the guy who can’t even keep my little brother safe from a goddamn team of teenagers.” 

“Dean you are already in trouble with the law, don’t make us put down assault of an officer as well.” Uriel warned from behind him. 

“Dean calm down,” Castiel said, and Dean realized that he had already worked out what Dean was going to do, he was already on the same wavelength, and God if that didn’t make his heart lurch unexpectedly when Cas locked eyes with him and ever so minutely, nodded. 

“It’s hardly my fault that Sam’s car exploded.” Castiel said 

“Yeah, but you didn’t listen when I told you he was the target of the attacks, did you? And then I was nearly burned to death in a fire!” Dean shouted, trying not to grin.

“I can’t be held accountable for your personal welfare!” Cas shouted back. 

Dean couldn’t think of a comeback, so he decided to skip ahead in the script to the stage directions that would read _Dean is arrested and taken to a holding cell._

Not to skip the part, of course, where the stage actions read thus: 

_Dean punches Castiel in the face._

Cas reeled back, recovering quickly and immediately moving to emancipate Dean. Dean was surprised to find he didn’t even have to act, it was a real grunt of pain when Cas shoved his hands behind his back, swinging him around and pinning him to the car in one fluid movement that made his back protest and his brain spark with almost-arousal. 

Cas was holding him there with the weight of his body, his thigh between Dean’s leg, his hands around his wrists. Then there was a cold, metallic sound and Cas’ voice was low in his ear. 

“You have the right to remain silent,” he said, and Dean felt a little thrill of victory. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.” He tugged at the handcuffs so Dean was standing between the two parked cars. 

“I’ll take him in,” Cas said to Uriel, who looked kind of shocked at the proceedings. “You finish up here and head back to the station when you’re done.” 

“You sure?” Uriel asked, looking at Dean like he was a live bomb. 

“Trust me, I can handle him.” Cas said, and it may have been Dean’s imagination, but his voice sounded lower, almost aggressive. 

Cas forced Dean into the backseat, slamming the door closed and leaving Dean dazed and grinning, watching Cas’ ass as he walked around the car and then got in the driver’s side. 

When he closed the door, he gave Uriel a wave and muttered lowly: “I can’t believe you punched me in the face.” 

“I can’t believe you arrested me.” Dean shot back. “Gotta admit though, kinda hot.” 

Cas huffed a laugh. “You think?” 

“Oh, so you liked it too?” Dean asked, squirming against his handcuffs and feeling how damn tight they were. “You liked pinning me to that car and cuffing me?” 

“It had a certain… thrill, that was absent in other arrests I have made.” Cas admitted begrudgingly. 

“We should do it again sometime,” Dean said absently, staring out the window and noticing that they weren’t heading in the direction of the station. “You can cuff me against a car and then have your wicked way. Think about it, babe. Fuck me over the front of your cop car,” he mused, frowning, the adrenaline in his veins making him feel overly confident, these smutty musings falling from his mouth a little too easily. “Or I could suck you here in the back seat, still cuffed. Or we could play breath test! You could open my mouth and tell me to blow until you say stop.” 

“Are you quite finished?” Cas asked as the car pulled to a stop. Dean looked out the window and frowned. 

They were not at the police station. 

They were at some kind of… abandoned factory. 

“Where are we, Cas?” 

“We are at a place with no traffic, no human habitation, a cop car, a very aroused police officer, a pair of handcuffs, and you.” Cas replied calmly, looking at Dean in the rear view mirror as if he had just said _‘we’re at my parents house’_ , or _‘Oregon.’_

“Ah,” Dean said 

“Not so eloquent anymore, Winchester?” Cas quipped, turning in his seat. And damn, if navy blue wasn’t his color. His eyes were darkened, lust blown and still bright blue, and almost predatory with the gaze they were sending his way. The bruise on his cheekbone, as well, had already gone a startling purple that seemed to serve only to make the blue even more intoxicating. 

“No, sir.” Dean replied, noting that Cas swallowed heavily at that. Not saying a word, he climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked so damn slowly around the car, pausing at the door and then opening it. 

“Get out,” he ordered, and Dean scrambled to obey. “On your knees.” He added, and Dean fell heavily onto the gravel, thinking to himself that he shouldn’t be this damn eager. 

Cas roughly handled his face, then, tilting Dean’s chin up so he was forced to watch as Cas slowly unzipped the fly to his pants, shunting aside the belt that held his nightstick and gun. Cas pulled out his cock – fully erect for the love of _God_ – and then pushed his thumb into Dean’s mouth, prying open his teeth and pressing his cock in alongside. 

Dean sat still, letting Cas open his mouth with his hands and then place his cock on the flat of his tongue, thrusting experimentally. 

“Mm,” Cas smiled lazily down at him. “What was it you said?” 

Dean knew better than to reply, feeling arousal coiling within himself despite the fact the knees of his jeans were wet against the cold gravel and his wrists were starting to hurt against the burn of the handcuffs. 

“Oh, I remember.” He pushed his cock in further, and Dean forced his throat to relax so he could greedily accept the intrusion. “ _Blow_ until I say _stop._ ” 

With that he began thrusting into Dean, a slow rhythm that gave him time to adjust, to breathe through his nose, to work his tongue into motion against the heaviness of Castiel’s _perfect fucking_ cock. 

Dean wanted to touch, there was part of Cas’ length that couldn’t quite fit in his throat and he longed to stroke it, to press his thumbs into the indents at Cas’ hips, to stroke hands up the back of his thighs and massage the muscles in his ass. He was forced to be passive though, to be used, to let Cas have his goddamn way with him, and fuck if Dean wasn’t harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Cas noticed. 

He pulled Dean off his cock, saliva connecting them for a moment before it was broken, and Dean was licking his lips and almost keening with the loss. 

Cas grabbed his chin again, tilting it upwards, pulling Dean to his feet. He complied easily, coming to face level and breathing heavily at Cas’ expression: possessive anger and lust. 

“Cas,” he whimpered. 

“Shh,” Cas cooed, wiping saliva off his chin. “I’ll take care of you.” 

His cock was still out, resting outside the zipper of his pants, shiny with Dean’s saliva and just part of the picture that made Cas the hottest thing he had ever seen, the sex hair and erection teemed with the dark blue, prim and proper uniform of a police officer. 

Cas’ hands were at Dean’s belt, then, pulling it off roughly and forcing down the jeans until his underpants were visible, cock peeking over the top of the elastic, damp with precum. 

“God, Dean,” Cas whispered, outside of the act for that moment. He hooked his finger into the elastic and dragged it down, freeing Dean’s cock to the chilled air and making him groan slightly. 

Cas pushed their hips together, cocks aligning, and thrusted once. The delicious friction, all smooth, hot skin and glide and-

Dean whimpered. He actually fucking whimpered when the heads of their cocks pressed together again, and Cas pushed against him, moving him. 

Dean wanted nothing more in that moment than to rid them both of their clothes and push Cas against the car, rutting and frotting and any other kind of –tting that would bring them both to orgasm _stat._

But he was handcuffed. 

So he had to accept it when Cas pulled his cock away and spun Dean around, making him lean on the hood of the car as Cas flipped open the lube – _where the fuck did he even get lube_ – and drizzled some over his ass. 

“This what you wanted, Dean? You wanted me to fuck you against my car while you’re handcuffed and I’m in my uniform?” 

“Cas, yes.” Dean said, groaning when Cas immediately put two fingers against his entrance, a gentle pressure that was suddenly increased. 

He was pressing in and out quickly, and it was so different to the loving treatment that Dean had gotten in the motel room, it was so fucking _primal._

Soon Cas was scissoring three fingers, and there was a harsh burn but God it didn’t matter, because then Cas was pushing his cock, still sticky with spit and lube, right against his rim and Dean was relaxing and Cas was inside of him again. 

Cas was thrusting animalistically, rutting his hips and putting a hand in Dean’s hair to yank backwards, and Dean was grunting and pushing back, feeling his bobbing cock occasionally hit the cool metal of the car and it was painful but that was okay because everything else felt _sofuckinggood._

Cas released his hair to take Dean’s cock in his hand, pumping roughly in a kind of almost-pain that set fireworks off behind his eyes when Cas hit his prostate full on and then began hammering into it, fucking him in filthy, deep thrusts that had his throat ragged from groaning. 

Dean felt his orgasm building, tried to hold off, not wanting to be finished when Cas was still thrusting and making this amazing little _‘oh’_ sounds with each movement, but then Cas hit his prostate on a new angle, and his hand tightened, and Dean was coming across the hood of Cas’ car, hands fighting against the handcuffs, legs tangled in his pants. Cas was holding him up, though, and with a few thrusts and a muffled _‘Dean!’_ , he came as well. 

Eventually, Dean mused, they would have to return to reality. 

A reality where Cas had a suspicious stain on his Navy Blue pants, where Dean wouldn’t stop squirming in his seat, where Police Officer Gabriel was saying “Jesus kid, how much did you struggle in those handcuffs?” upon spotting Dean’s bruised wrists, and Dean was replying “My injuries pale in comparison to what you will look like if you break my little brother’s heart, capische?” and Gabriel was saying “So he told you?” and Dean was scowling and muttering, “I can’t believe you did it on the couch.” And then Gabriel was laughing as Dean was lead to the holding cell, given one moment to check that _yes,_ Sebastian was still there, and then left alone, with his bruised wrists, sore ass, and a twenty-year-old criminal. 

“So,” Dean said to break the silence. “I hear your fake-dad wants Sam Winchester.” 

Step two of Operation Get Sam Kidnapped: _Get the necessary information from Sebastian Lyon._

“W-what?” The voice was scratchy and a little higher pitched than Dean thought it might be, but he grinned nonetheless. 

“Yellow Eyes. Wants Sam Winchester. For his very own.” Dean spelled out, squirming on the seat and eventually deciding it would be easier on his ass if he were to lie down on the damn floor. 

“How did you know that?” Sebastian asked

“Sam’s my brother.” Dean shrugged, then remembered Sebastian couldn’t see him. “Us older brother’s have a way of finding out things.” 

Sebastian gave a snort. “If your daddy hadn’t stepped in twenty years ago, I’d be Sam’s older brother.” 

Dean swore silently in his cell, letting out all his anger in a kind of mime rage so that he didn’t shout his head off and bring the police officers running. 

“Well,” Dean said experimentally, noting that his voice didn’t sound too homicidal. “Looks like that didn’t go down the way you planned.” 

He took a deep breath, ready to start lying even though every fibre of his brain protested the things that he was going to have to say. 

“Which is a shame,” Dean begun, his stomach clenching. “because Sam kind of hates me.” 

Sebastian shifted in his cell, Dean heard the shuffling. 

“Yeah, he really hates you. That’s why you guys moved in together.” 

“Obligation, on his part. He kind of feels sorry for me, I think.” Dean said. “Truth is, he hates the whole lot of us. Used to shout it at dad whenever they fought.”

“We all say things we don’t mean when we’re angry,” Sebastian said quietly, leaving a long pause in the wake of that statement. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Anyway, my point is this: when Sam found out that Yellow Eyes had actually wanted to raise him well… he got curious.” 

“Curious?” Sebastian asked, as if the word was new to him. 

“Yeah, made him wonder, y’know. What could have been.” 

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked

“Well,” Dean cleared his throat again, rubbing his wrists. “Sam, big dumb idiot that he is, actually wanted to _meet_ Yellow Eyes.” 

“Why?” Sebastian said, immediately suspicious. 

“Hell if I know, not like the kid talks to me. I heard him say it to one of his friends once. He wanted to… well, see the guy who might have raised him.” 

“Sam wants to meet Dad?” Sebastian sounded almost childish then.

“Apparently so.” Dean said, shrugging to himself. “But that guy is hard to find. I thought I’d try and help him, you know? Try and get in his good books. Turns out I couldn’t even do that for the poor kid. Your dad is pretty far off the map, hey?” 

There was a long silence again, and Dean feared he’d been to obvious.

“He’s not that hard to find,” Sebastian countered. “If you know what to look for.” 

“Is he in town at the moment?” Dean asked hesitantly. Sebastian didn’t answer for a moment, but then there was a flurry of movement from the cell next to him, as if Sebastian was trying to see through the wall that separated them.

“He’s close. He likes to come here and watch Sam,” Sebastian confided, and Dean clenched his fists, thinking it would definitely be easier than initially thought to kill this son of a bitch. “He’s busy during the day, but if Sam is alone at night he’ll sometimes go in person.” 

“Go where?”

“Wherever Sam is.” Sebastian replied. Dean’s would-be-response was cut off by a police officer opening the door to the holding cells, trailing him was another pair of footsteps that Dean would recognize anywhere. 

“Dean Winchester,” a nameless police officer said, and Dean dimly wondered where Castiel was. “Your attorney is here, he wants to speak with you.” Dean stood up and made his way to the doors, trying not to grin. 

“So you’re the credit card scammer who punched an officer of the law.” Bobby said, raising his eyebrows. “Come on, boy, let’s go sit down a moment.” 

Step three of Operation Get Sam Kidnapped is where things got a little sketchy. Step three, part one was this: _Get the information that Dean had got from Sebastian, to Sam._

Part two: _Get Dean out of the holding cells._

“I spoke to the officer you assaulted,” Bobby commented, still in his lawyer persona. There were too many eyes watching them to break character, so Dean just nodded sullenly. 

“He’s not going to press charges.” 

That was another code they’d decided upon, and hearing those words made Dean’s stomach drop. Because if he was going to press charges, well that was code for the fact that everything was fine and dandy from the Police Force’s perspective. 

Cas not pressing charges meant that something had fucked up. 

“Did he say why?” Dean asked, his voice a little huskier than usual, and Bobby shrugged. 

“Who knows with these rural country cop types, right? Might have been because of a childhood experience, for all I care. Maybe Officer Novak didn’t want any trouble with the courts.” 

“Why wouldn’t he want that?” Dean breathed, not quite catching whatever Bobby was trying to throw at him. Bobby rolled his eyes. 

“Who knows, maybe he killed a stripper or something.” 

A stripper. 

_Ruby._

Dean wanted to ask, did they find out he’d spoken to Ruby? Did they find out about Luke? And Sam? Are they going to ruin everything? 

But Bobby looked calm, collected. Obviously this wasn’t a huge deal. Dean breathed out, feeling a part of him relax. 

Everything was going to b-

The door burst open and Castiel appeared there, looking wild-eyed and erratic. 

“Dean,” he said quickly. 

“Cas.” Dean replied, not quite understanding what was happening. 

“I was just suspended for fraternizing with Ruby but then-”

“What the hell is going on, kid?” Bobby asked, standing up. “Everything was smooth sailing and the-”

“I may have accidentally called Police Chief Michael an ‘assbutt’ and punched him unconscious.” Cas admitted. “I’d say we have about ten minutes until someone sees the body, and even less than that until someone realises I’ve just burst into an interrogation room and am leaving the station with a recently arrested man.” Cas huffed out a breath. “In fact, I’d perhaps suggest running as fast as we possibly could in the direction of my car, as immediately as possible.” 

“Assbutt?” Dean repeated.

Cas shrugged, turning back to the station and holding open the door in an impatient gesture. 

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. 

Dean stood and ran, pulling at Bobby’s jacket to spur the man on. Soon all three of them were tearing into action, slipping past two police officers that attempted to grab them and heading for the door. 

There was only one man blocking their exit now, and when Uriel shouted, 

“Gabriel, grab them!” 

The man in their path simply smirked, held out a hand and shrugged. 

“Oops,” he said, and then their miscreant gang of three became a miscreant gang of four. 

“So I’m guessing Cas busted you out for a reason, and I’m guessing that reason is to do with a certain six ft four lawyer that I may be in love with?” Gabe asked as him and Dean slid into the backseat of Cas’ car, Bobby in the passenger’s and Cas frantically hitting the gas in the driver’s seat.

“Something like that, yes.” Dean managed to gasp out between puffs of air. 

“Apparently now Cassie and I are renegade, gay cops for the Winchesters,” Gabe stated, grinning and loosening his tie. “Party on.” 

“Cas,” Dean puffed out, slamming back against his seat when the car started with a roar and was immediately pushed to the highest possible speed limit. 

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asked, sounding remarkably calm considering the situation. 

“May I ask why you called your boss a…” Dean cleared his throat. “Assbutt.” Gabe gave a bark of laughter from beside him. “And then punched him unconscious?” 

“He was rude about you,” Cas said, not offering any other explanation. 

“So, wait.” Dean frowned. “A guy that I don’t know, said something vaguely insulting about me, so you floored him, effectively quit your job and became a fugitive with me?” 

“I hadn’t really thought of it that way. Gabriel, are we fugitives now?” Cas asked

“I don’t know about me, but you assaulted an officer and assisted with the escape of a condemned man.” Gabe shrugged

“Condemned man? Really?” Dean asked

“Hey, you’re the one with the credit card scams, assault to officer, and now a prison break on your record.” Gabe pointed out.

“Ladies, can we stop the arguing, please? I’m trying to call Sam.” Bobby complained. 

“So where are we going?” Gabe asked

“Secret hideout,” Dean offered with a grin. 

“Which is…?” 

“Abandoned railway station,” Cas said gruffly. “Used to be one of Luke Pellegrino’s bases, but he ditched it after a cop found out where it was.” 

“Also known as, Cas got his ass dragged there and then they all bailed so he couldn’t poop on their party again.” Dean said, laughing slightly to himself. Gabe laughed as well, and then the two of them were lost to gales of laughter. 

“I think that means the adrenaline has set in,” Bobby muttered to Cas in the front seat. 

Cas answered with a woozy giggle, leaving Bobby to scowl to himself and be the only one to remember that once they had told Sam, they were going to have to move on to step four: 

_Use Sam as bait to draw out a psychopath._

“Balls,” he muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this is the last pre-written chapter I have, so there could be a little hiatus depending on how long it takes me to get back into this story. Thanks for all the lovely support! xox


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost finished guys, sorry about the unexpected hiatus! Enjoy the chapter.

Imagine you’re a kid. Young kid, like only just got into preschool, not hit puberty yet, still get confused for a little girl over the phone, _kid._

Now imagine someone hands you a baby and tells you that it is your job to protect it. 

Imagine you suddenly realize that this is your purpose in life, that in this moment your entire reason for living has just been shoved into your tiny arms with a shouted command to _run._

You got that? Now imagine its 20 or so years later, and some guy wants to hurt your purpose in life. He wants to make it _his_ purpose in life to protect that dorky kid that you taught to tie his shoelaces, and how to ask out girls, and how to correctly take a hit of weed without coughing your lungs up. 

Now let’s pretend that there’s a guarantee your stupid, kid brother is going to be safe from other people who want to hurt him if you kill that guy. Just stick a goddamn bullet through his head, something you’ve done to other people countless times when you were on another side of the world under a hotter sun with a bunch of other guys with matching stunted emotional abilities and matching khaki pants.

Now let’s say that the only way to get this guy out in the open (so you can calmly end his pitiful existence), is to let your kid brother, your reason for living, your goddamn _purpose in life_ , stand outside an abandoned warehouse. 

Stand there, pretending to text message and casting furtive glances around for this guy’s arrival, while you have to crouch next to a chain link fence, gun in one hand, phone in the other. 

Your kind-of-gay-partner is hidden as well, with a police issued glock and a dirty trench coat. 

The guy your brother is in love with is behind a bush somewhere to your right, with his gun and his plaid and his heavy boots and a smirk that is entirely unnecessary given the situation. 

Now how would you feel in that situation? 

“Dean?” Bobby’s voice came from the tiny speaker in his phone, insistent and somewhat comforting. “I said how are you feeling?” 

_‘Fuck you’_ isn’t an appropriate response. 

“Everything’s fine.” Dean said instead, gruff and annoyed, trying to keep his emotions in check and not pay attention to how damn vulnerable Sam looked. “Can you see anything?”

“I’m looking at the security cameras, I can’t really see anything. How about you, Cas?” 

“Nothing on my end.” Cas muttered, his voice police-trained low. Dean can practically hear the ‘over’ tacked on to the end of the sentence. 

“I’ve got something,” Gabe said, “some sexy six ft four moose of a man is milling about in front of a god damn abandoned warehouse, waiting for a guy who wants to literally kidnap him.” 

“Not helping,” Sam said, his lips barely moving against the tiny microphone that is clipped onto the lapel of his shirt. “I think I can hear someone coming, so how about we all shut the fuck up?” he added pleasantly. 

Dean shifted, moving his phone to a pocket and holding the gun with both hands, peering slowly around the corner. 

“Sammy, if its Yellow Eyes then I’m not a hundred percent sure he’ll just approach you, you might have to say something first.” Dean said lowly, wiggling his toes inside his boots against the onslaught of pins and needles in his feet. 

Sam nodded briefly, a little shake of his head that was almost imperceptible. He was stopped by the doorway of the warehouse, something incredibly ominous about the gaping black mouth of the frame. 

Dean saw movement there a second too late. 

Sam had opened his mouth, ready to speak, and a dirty pair of arms had reached from inside the dark doorway and pulled him inside. 

Body on autopilot, mind still reeling, Dean had lunged into action. He could see Gabe and Cas as well, surging forwards towards the doorway which slammed shut in front of them, Sam’s muffled shout of _‘Dean’_ being drowned out by the heavy metal of the door. 

“It’s a fortress in there,” Cas said. “We have to think this through, we don’t know how many people are- Dean!” 

Dean wasn’t listening, he had taken a run up and bodily slammed into the door with the single-minded force of knowing that Sam was in danger

“Dean, stop!” Cas shouted, Dean had taken another run up but was stopped by Cas’ arms on his biceps, holding him still. “Think about this logically, come on. We need to get inside in one damn piece.” 

“Guy with a gun!” Bobby’s hurried shout came over their phones simultaneously, and all three of them ducked hurriedly. A shot ricocheted above them, pinging off the door loudly and momentarily deafening them. 

“Get inside!” Gabriel shouted, standing above Cas and Dean and aiming his gun at the handle of the door, shooting twice and then kicking the door open in a smooth movement. “I’ll hold this asshole off.” 

Dean didn’t need to be told twice, he grabbed Cas’ arm and shot into the building, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the stacked shelving and all of the fucking metal.

“It’s a goddamn labyrinth.” Cas whispered beside him

“So we split up, stay in contact.” Dean said back, turning to him and catching his cheek in a quick kiss before moving to the right, crouching low and holding his gun in front of him. 

It was reminisce of other times he had been on raids, it made his pulse jump and his ears strain. Sam’s voice could no longer be heard, and Dean made himself remember that Yellow Eyes wanted Sam to be safe. 

There was the sound of a shot gun somewhere behind him, three shots fired and then silence, a shout, and then three more shots. 

Dean held his breath, completely still, until Gabe’s voice came out of the speaker in his phone. 

“There’s a fucking bullet in my leg and I think I just killed a guy.” He sounded shaken, but the cocky façade was still in place. “Two more out here, Jesus Christ, they’re just kids, Dean. He’s sending the kids after us with fucking guns.” 

“Remember they have guns and are trained,” Dean hissed. “Go for emancipating shots.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Gabe muttered, and there was the spluttering of more gun fire from behind him. He forced his mind blank and continued walking, finding a door and kicking it open, surveying the emptiness inside for only a moment before continuing on. 

Dean hadn’t seen anyone yet, and after three more doors and a flight of stairs, he was beginning to feel a little helpless.

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean mumbled to himself, kicking open a door and seeing something a little different, this one lead to a hallway with another door at the end. 

He immediately walked in, gripping his gun a little tighter. 

Inside was the silhouette of a person, holding a gun and looking tense. Dean took in a deep breath, silencing his movement so he could survey the new threat for a moment. 

“Dean?” the silhouette of a person turned towards him, the familiar gravelly voice making him sag with relief. 

“Cas, you idiot, how did you end up here?” Dean asked him, walking up to him quickly. He shrugged in the low light. 

“Just kept following the layout. Have you seen Sam?” 

“Not yet. You?” 

“I thought I saw some movement,” Cas gestured ahead of him, where he had been looking before Dean came in. Together they turned towards it, carefully manoeuvring until they were in front of a heavy door, something that looked like too much for Dean’s boots and aching ankles. 

“Maybe there’s another way around?” Dean muttered

“Maybe not,” Cas countered. “Cover your ears.” 

Dean had that warning and a two second gap before Cas was shooting at the door, kicking it open and then they were both inside. 

It was another hallway, and at the end they could see the faint movement of two people struggling with the inert frame of his baby brother. 

With a calm precision Dean raised his gun, aiming for the legs and kneecaps, and fired. 

The first guy went down with a thud and a shout, the second one suddenly attempting to drag six ft four of immobile muscle by himself. 

Cas had taken off at a run, then, and he was almost upon them. 

The guy – maybe 25 or so – drew a gun. 

Dean swore his heart almost stopped. 

“Cas!” He shouted, lunging forward with single-minded determination, something in his head screaming _no, no, not Cas, not Cas._

His inner turmoil, however, was needless. Cas simply raised his gun, still running, and shot the assailant in the shoulder, and before Dean could even feel grateful, Cas was next to his little brother, kicking away the guns of the two men and checking Sam for injuries. 

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean whispered, making his way down the hall. 

“Dean, I got something here.” Bobby said quietly. “Guy in a van, loading in injured kids.” 

“Yellow Eyes?” 

“Could be. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Bobby said. 

“One of us should go check if it’s him.” Cas said quietly, looking up at Dean with that serious stare. 

“You stay with Sam.” Dean said resolutely. “I’ll be back.” 

He took off out of the door and made his way back the way he had come, keeping up a light jog and speaking to Bobby on the way there, working out where the van was. 

“Gabe, how’s your situation?” Dean asked into the phone

“I’m scoping out the van and bleeding a lot, Winchester.” Gabe said, his voice sounding strained. 

“Ok, I’m coming to find you.” Dean promised. 

“This looks like our guy, he’s older than the rest and he appears to be giving orders. I’d put my money on him.” Gabe said.

“On it.” Dean said, making his way to the original entrance and pushing his way out, seeing the juddering movement of injured people amongst the silhouettes of the darkened area. 

Dean was unsure of what to do then, because there was the guy – he was sure of it, something in his gut that had helped him on so many occasions telling him that Yellow Eyes was the man standing at the front of the van, and yet his sight lines were messy and his gun was almost out of ammo and he was slowly losing his window of opportunity, and Gabe was bleeding somewhere, and Sam might be injured, and Cas was alone with his little brother, an-

There was an explosion, fire appearing from nowhere at the front of the van, the force of it blowing Dean backwards with unexplainable force, his memories rushing back to the war like a punch to the stomach. 

His head was ringing, his ears rendered useless and his eyes swimming with black dots as he scrambled to his knees, taking in the wreckage of the van, the undeniable fact that Yellow Eyes was dead, and then he was running forward and shouting a word that slowly took form. 

“Gabe!” 

He looked around the bushes, a few of which were on fire, eyes scanning the ground until he spotted the inert frame of his brother’s boyfriend, crumpled like a child. 

Dean squatted beside him, fingers seeking out a pulse and stomach almost convulsing with happiness when the steady thud beat against his hand. 

There was a nasty looking wound on Gabe’s forehead, and what looked like a burn on the right side of his body that wasn’t too serious as much as it was probably painful. 

Gabriel, thankfully, was unconscious. 

There were footsteps behind him and he turned to see Bobby, holding their first aid kit and staring with wonder at the still-burning vehicle.

“So I guess Yellow Eyes is dead, then.” Bobby summarized. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, rubbing at his eyes. “But how?” 

“I think I might be able to answer a few questions,” The voice was female and cocky, belonging to a shorter woman with long, dark hair. She also had a black eye, bruises on her knuckles, and a detonator in her hand. 

“My name’s Ruby. I’m here to talk to Castiel.” 

“Ruby, I’m here.” His voice was oddly business-like when he exited the building, Sam leaning heavily on him. Dean was impressed he could take the weight. Dean looked around at the headcount, smiling at his finally-conscious little brother, his almost-gay lover, his uncle, his brother’s boyfriend, and a stripper with a bomb. 

“What the fuck is my life,” he muttered. 

“Cas, Luke wanted you to know that you were… well, a ruse. He used you, baby, and now Yellow Eyes is dead. Although, you did promise him that you’d kill him… so, I suppose you owe him one.” She mused, frowning. “Interesting. Anyway, I have to report back to boss now, so you guys just head on home. I think I hear sirens.” 

All of their heads simultaneously whipped towards the direction of the police station, Sam taking that moment to notice that Gabriel was unconscious and wounded. 

“Gabe!” He had clearly been dosed with something, because his huge frame was uncharacteristically clumsy as he stumbled towards the injured man. He fell beside him, checking his pulse, fingers fluttering urgently over his face, and Dean wondered dimly if that was what he would have looked like if Cas was the one who was hurt. 

“We have to get him to a hospital, not the one in town.” Cas said quietly, sounding like all the fight had gone out of him. 

“Bobby, bring the van around. Siox Falls is only a half hour away, less if we speed.” Dean said, his army training forcing all the emotions to the back of his head. 

“Let’s get the hell out of dodge, guys.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first post on AO3. I hope you liked the thing. Enjoy the thing. Thank for reading thing.


End file.
